


Jeeves and the Midnight Raid

by Mice



Category: Jeeves & Wooster
Genre: Angst, M/M, h/c
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-23
Updated: 2011-01-23
Packaged: 2017-10-15 00:52:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 25,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/155308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mice/pseuds/Mice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Jeeves is injured in a midnight raid on a New York speakeasy, dangerous secrets are revealed. Bertie decides that Precautions Must Be Taken and things change drastically in the Wooster household.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Jeeves and the Midnight Raid

**Author's Note:**

> Happyjoyful beta and cheerleading by queen_fiend.
> 
> The 1920s were relatively good years for homosexuals in New York City. Prohibition brought all kinds and classes to the speakeasies to mingle freely. In this fertile soil, speakeasies called "pansy clubs" catered to the homosexual community, featuring female impersonators and costumed balls where homosexuals could dance together openly. These clubs became so popular that the rich and famous attended to watch the spectacle. In January of 1931, after a gangland shooting at Club Abbey, everything changed.

I don't think I'd ever been so bally frightened in my entire life as the night when Jeeves staggered in through the servant's entrance to the flat, half-dressed, battered, and bloody.

Wait! There, I've done it again, launching into the story _in media_ something-or-other. Allow me to set the scene for you properly.

Jeeves -- my valet, you know -- and I had fled Old Blighty for New York shortly before the yuletide festivities of Steeple Bumpleigh, where my fire breathing Aunt Agatha awaited me with yet another beazel all turned out for matrimony. This one had been particularly unappealing, possessed as she was of pigeon toes, a pigeon nose, and quite probably feathers and a pigeon brain as well. Bertram may not be the brightest of chaps, but this specimen had once nearly drowned in a rainstorm because she spent too long looking up into the sky trying to figure out where all that water was coming from.

Suffice it to say, upon my most urgent request Jeeves had concocted some story about why I had to be in New York by New Years and we were off on a boat before you could say "tickets please." We'd been ensconced in our happy bachelor flat at Stuyvesant Towers for a couple of weeks when said staggering occurred, and it was quite a staggering occurrence, I must say.

Perhaps you've seen Jeeves, in which case you'd understand just how shocking this moment of staggering was, but if you haven't I should tell you that Jeeves is always immaculate, not to mention fully dressed. I suspect his mother -- assuming he had one, I mean -- popped him out into the world already togged out in his valeting uniform, complete with morning coat and bowler. Such is Jeeves's sartorial immaculacy that wrinkles flee at the very mention of his name and recalcitrant cummerbunds fasten themselves instantly and with alacrity. When he moves, he is the very picture of grace. He glides. He shimmers. He rolls about on silent casters. He does not stagger. Hence it was quite a shock to the Wooster system, seeing him sans coat, bowler, jacket, waistcoat or tie as he leaned heavily against a counter, gasping for breath and sagging slowly toward the floor.

I nearly dropped the plate I'd held in my hand. It was about two in the morning on Jeeves's night off, and I'd been raiding the icebox for a nibble of cold chicken before biffing off to grace the pillows with my presence. I managed to set the plate on a counter without breaking the bally thing; I caught him before the Jeevesian dial could become intimately acquainted with the floor. He let out a pained yelp when I put an arm around him and hauled him back to his feet, but I managed to get him to a chair before his legs gave out.

"Good Lord, Jeeves, what happened to you?" It was mid-January and cold as an arctic expeditionary force that had forgot its coats and woolen socks. The door was standing open onto the fire escape and a freezing wind blew in, wafting an unsettling amount of snow with it. I popped over to close it while Jeeves caught his breath, as he was panting harshly, sounding like every bally horse in the stable after the Ascot.

Jeeves didn't reply at first, which I found almost as frightening as his appearance. It wasn't just the lack of appropriate outer coverings, though that was shocking enough. He looked like he'd been roughed up by gangsters prior to being poured into a pair of concrete overshoes, as they say. He had a horrifyingly puffy black eye, his face and hair were bloody, his knuckles were rather torn up, and he was bruised in other places as well. He was clutching one arm to his side as though it hurt him terribly. His white shirt was torn and he was shivering, with little cold snowflakes and icy bits still in his hair. It was the shivering that got me moving again. I tugged my dressing gown off and put it over his shoulders, as he apparently needed it far more than I did just at the mo.

I suspect the horrifying impropriety of it all was what finally got him to look up at me. "Sir." His voice was harsh and unsteady. "Your dressing gown, sir."

"You're freezing, man. And you look like some gangster got hold of you. What in blazes happened?" I got a bit of folded cloth from a counter and wet it down, applying it gingerly to one of the spots on his head that was still bleeding as I knelt beside him. He jerked and hissed, then took the cloth from me and held it to the bloody wound.

"I was accosted by muggers, sir." He huddled miserably at the table, not looking up at me. He was also still shaking.

"They stole your clothes, Jeeves?" Something about this wasn't quite working for me, but I couldn't puzzle it out. Why would muggers want Jeeves's clothes? I mean, they'd even taken his tie. That stopped him for a moment. When he looked up I could see he'd been a bit scrambled from the knocks he'd taken to the head. "I'm calling the police and a doctor," I said. Maybe the police would be able to catch the blighters who'd hurt him.

His one un-puffy eye went wide at that. "No!" It was sharp and startled, but then he caught himself. "No, sir, please. A doctor certainly, but I would prefer you not notify the police."

I stared at him for a moment. No police? Well, a doctor was obviously more important right now anyway. We'd work out that police thing after I'd got a physician on the phone. I had to go into the sitting room, where the phone was, to make the call, but it was the work of a moment and I was back in the kitchen with Jeeves in a trice. I've never been sure why it's called a trice, but there you are, and I was in it.

He was leaning on one elbow, still holding the cloth to his head and shivering slightly, his eyes closed as blood trickled slowly down from his temple. I sat at the table with him, but he didn't seem to notice. "Jeeves," I said quietly. He blinked and looked up at me.

"Sir." His voice was slightly steadier now.

"Why do you not want me to call the police?"

"I... I did not see the men who assaulted me," he said. He had the oddest expression on his face.

I tilted an eyebrow at him. "Come, now, Jeeves. You obviously hit at least one of them." I touched the hand that held the wet cloth to his head just below where his knuckles were split and bruised. "You had to have seen someone."

"The police would be of no--" The arm he'd been keeping close twitched and he went pale, his one good eye squeezing shut, and he gasped. I was on my feet again before I knew it, with one hand on his unhurt shoulder and the other cupping his cheek. His skin was cold as an Eskimo's icebox.

"The doctor should be here in less than half an hour, Jeeves," I said. "At least let's get this bloody shirt off you and get a blanket around you, shall we?"

He shook his head. "I believe my arm is broken, sir," he said. "Moving it at this juncture would be a very unwise idea."

"Good Lord," I whispered. "How did you get home?"

"I was able to find a cab, sir."

"But you were mugged. They didn't get your money?" I found the whole thing very confusing. Why would they take his clothes, but not his money? The only thing I could possibly think was that, for some reason, he was lying to me. Not that he'd never done so before, but it was usually in the process of trying to pry some sharp fanged female from my leg before she had dragged me down the aisle into a lifetime of despair.

Jeeves looked up at me again. I could see a spark of confusion in his face, an expression I very rarely saw. "Please, sir," he said, "I beg you not to ask me any more questions." He sounded more distressed than I'd ever heard him before. Desperate, almost, if such a thing were even possible.

I got down on one knee in front of him and started to ease his braces off his shoulders from underneath my dressing gown. Getting that cold, wet shirt off him seemed like a good idea, though I was starting to think I might have to find some scissors and cut the sleeve off his arm. The shirt was a complete loss anyway, what with the blood and the tearing. I'd buy him a new one. I'd buy him half a dozen new ones. "Jeeves, you've got me very worried now. Not that I wasn't worried already, mind you, what with you looking like you've been trampled by a herd of irritated wildebeest. What's really going on?" Once I'd got his braces out of the way, I tugged at the studs in his shirt. I wasn't nearly as efficient as he was at this dressing and undressing wheeze, but Bertram is perfectly capable of getting the studs out, even if he drops them occasionally in the process.

"I could not say, sir."

I glared at him. "Would not is more like it," I snapped. "Really, Jeeves, I insist you stop this nonsense at once. If you've got yourself into some kind of trouble, which seems dashed unusual but entirely too likely given your current state of disarray, I'll do anything that needs doing to get you out of it. You should know that, given how many times you've fished me out of the soup over the years. Provided it doesn't include hiding bodies, I mean. I'm not sure I'm ready for that calibre of legal mishap." I raised a questioning eyebrow. "It doesn't involve hiding bodies, does it, old thing?" He shook his head no, which bucked me up to no end. That settled, this Wooster knew well enough that sometimes, if you toss enough money at it, a problem will find somewhere else to be or someone else to bother. I tugged the last couple of studs from his shirt, leaving it hanging open. I touched gently where one of the tears had gone through his undervest, exposing a nasty cut and more bruising visible through a rent in the bloody cloth. He hissed again and I felt a flush of absolute fury at whomever had done this to him. "I want to know who hurt you, Jeeves, because I bally well want to see the blighters behind bars."

He regarded me solemnly for a long moment. "It is extremely unlikely that the assailants would end up behind bars, sir," he said. He hesitated for a moment and I gestured for him to continue. He tried to sit up straight, but he made a pained sound and his breath caught. It took him a minute or so to collect himself, and I put a careful hand on his shoulder.

"It's all right, Jeeves, whatever happened. I don't care how awful it might be. Please, just tell me. The doctor will be here soon, and I've got a sneaking suspicion that we shouldn't be having this conversation in his presence." I didn't know what had gone on, but it had to be bad if he was this unwilling to talk about it.

He swallowed and nodded to himself, obviously having made some decision. "I will understand, sir, if you wish to dismiss me after I inform you of the circumstances that have left me in such a state." He wouldn't look at me.

"What utter rot, Jeeves. Why on earth would I dismiss you?" Once potential corpses had been dispensed with, I couldn't think of anything he could possibly have done that would make me willing to let him leave me. Even if there was a dead body, I'm sure it would have to have been self-defense. Without him, I'd be engaged to some awful specimen of femininity fifteen minutes later with no way of getting out of it. "You know I'd end up chained to some horrid beazel fifteen minutes later, and who would get the young master out of the soup then?"

That seemed to ease his mind at least a bit. He took a deep breath and winced at the pain from it. "This evening, sir, I was at a speakeasy when the police entered."

"Oh, good Lord, you were caught in one of those raids? Really, Jeeves, is that all?" Well, that didn't sound so bad. "It's happened to me before, and all we had to do was bail me out of chokey. I'd never let you go over something as silly as that. What happened that you got hurt?"

He looked up cautiously. "I... resisted arrest, sir. Quite vehemently."

"But Jeeves," I said quietly, "I would have come to bail you out. You must know that. Surely your feudal spirit wouldn't have forbidden calling upon me for something that insignificant?"

He hesitated again before he answered. "This particular speakeasy, sir, was not of the sort that you frequent."

I looked at him, somewhat confused. "I don't understand. Why would it make any difference what kind of speakeasy it was? They're all illegal."

"This particular speakeasy, sir, catered to a... particular sort of gentleman." There was something about the way he said it that rang alarm bells in the back of my steeple. "Such... such circumstances would have courted a significantly harsher potential prison sentence than a mere violation of the prohibition laws. Sir." He swallowed hard and his glance flickered away from me again.

"Particular sort..." The light began to dawn over the Wooster corpus. "Jeeves, you were at one of those pansy clubs? Really, how would that have been a problem? I mean, one of the Rockefellers was at one just recently, watching the female impersonators act. Who would care?"

His eye closed. "I was not there simply to watch the act, sir," he whispered. I blinked. Suddenly the missing clothing made much more sense. I'd heard about some of those places, and stayed well away from them because I didn't want that kind of trouble dogging me like an infuriated aunt. "I expect you shall be wanting my resignation, sir. It is, after all, illegal in the state of New York to employ men such as myself, and my proximity may cause you some discomfort now that you are aware of my nature."

It was a bit of a shock to the system, to be sure, but not in quite the way I think he imagined. I took his face gently in both of my hands. "Jeeves, old thing, do you think that matters to me at all? I'd be rather a hypo-something if I handed you the mitten over that." It had come entirely out of the clear blue sky, though of course at the moment it was the middle of the night and snowing, so the sky was neither clear nor blue. How had I never figured it out? I really should have known. Seeing him now and knowing the truth, I should have seen a thousand things that pointed in that direction. With all those mystery thrillers I'd read, you'd think I would occasionally be able to spot a clue when it coshed me from behind.

"Sir?" His voice was soft but a bit shocked. "You, sir?" He looked entirely poleaxed, but given that he'd taken at least one nasty knock to the head quite recently, I shouldn't have been surprised. He wasn't working at his usual full, fish-fueled efficiency at the mo. Of course, I'd also been at great pains to hide my own proclivities from him, not wanting him to scarper off at the first hint of potential impropriety. One doesn't wish to lose a paragon like Jeeves for any reason, particularly not one that might put a chap in chokey for a couple of years of hard labor.

The doorbell rang. "I expect that's the doctor. We'll tell him you got mugged on the way home, Jeeves, and that'll be all for it. The rest of this we can talk about later." He tried to rise but I was already on my feet and pressed down on one shoulder, keeping him in the chair. "No, you're hurt. I can bally well answer my own door."

The chap in the hallway was middle-aged and looked quite doctorly, with a large medical bag in one hand and his hat in the other. He wore spectacles thick as the bottoms of cola bottles. "Mr. Wooster?"

"You'd be Doctor Feldman, then?"

He nodded. "Yes, of course."

"Come in, come in. My valet Jeeves managed to get mugged while he was out for the evening. It's dashed lucky he made it home at all." I tugged the doctor's arm and pulled him after me into the kitchen, where Jeeves had sagged a bit more against the table, looking in quite a lot of pain. I hoped we'd be able to set that right very soon.

The doctor set his bag and his hat on the table and took a look at Jeeves. "Mr. Jeeves," he said, gently touching his chin and getting him to raise his head. "Please look at me, Mr. Jeeves."

He peeled Jeeves's swollen eye open for a moment, which caused the poor chap to grit his teeth and shudder.

The doctor asked questions and Jeeves answered -- yes he was dizzy, yes he had a blighter of a headache, yes he'd had some blurry vision but he hadn't passed out, that sort of thing. He described some of what had happened, leaving out that it was policemen who did it. I was quite taken aback at the ferocity of the abuse and fearfully angry that someone would try to hurt him like that. Dr. Feldman shook his head and poked and prodded at Jeeves. That resulted in tiny, pained noises the likes of which I'd never heard from Jeeves before, but it all must have hurt like the dickens. I held his hand through it, and he squeezed fairly hard whenever the doctor hit a bad spot.

Finally, Dr. Feldman cleaned Jeeves up a little and started to bandage the bits that were cut or bleeding. One of the cuts on Jeeves's head required a few stitches; I'm afraid I couldn't look while there was a needle zipping about. It left me queasy and poor Jeeves was white as the snow that was still falling outside by the time he'd done. The doctor had me get some ice from the icebox for Jeeves's eye. I wrapped it in a tea towel and held it carefully to Jeeves's poor bruised face while Dr. Feldman finished his examination.

"Well, gentleman, we need to take Mr. Jeeves to the hospital so that we can get x-rays of his arm, his chest, and his head." He looked at Jeeves. "You've got a rather nasty concussion, Mr. Jeeves, and I want to be certain that your skull hasn't been fractured. I suspect you have at least two broken ribs, and I must see the configuration of the breaks in your arm before we can properly set and cast it." Jeeves just nodded mutely, seeming quite overwhelmed and considerably in pain after all that poking and stitching, and the doctor looked over at me. "Mr. Jeeves will need to be off work for at least two weeks, possibly three, before he can resume his duties, given the broken arm and ribs. At that point, I would likely only release him for light work. He won't be able to do heavy work at all until after the cast comes off and his ribs heal up enough. As to how long that will be, it depends on the severity of the fractures."

I nodded. "It's all right," I said. "We'll manage somehow." Jeeves looked a bit affronted at the suggestion that he wouldn't be able to just carry on with his right arm in a cast and his ribs cracked, but I wasn't going to have that at all. "No, Jeeves," I said. "I won't have you hurting yourself because you think you're not doing your job."

Feldman popped a sling around Jeeves's neck to support his arm and I grabbed a blanket from his room and wrapped him in it. The doctor gave me a few minutes to get dressed and find my wallet so that we could leave the flat. We supported Jeeves carefully on either side to get him down to the doctor's motorcar, because he was still more than a bit wobbly from the knocks on the head. I didn't want the poor chap to fall and break anything else, after all.

***

We ended up spending the rest of the night at the hospital, what with the x-rays and the whole plastering whatnot. The doctor said that Jeeves hadn't cracked his skull, thank God, and that the arm and two of his ribs were broken with some stick-whatsit, which meant the breaks weren't too severe, but they'd still hurt like the dickens for quite some time. By the time we were done, Jeeves had broken a sweat from the pain and he was shaking rather badly, but his arm had been all plastered up so that he couldn't move it. He'd been given some drugs for the pain, and then we were shoved out the door to find a cab home.

The snow had finally stopped, but it was still cold as the bally antarctic outside. The sky was starting to lighten by the time we got back to our flat. The daytime lift operator, Mr. Coneybear, got one look at us and his eyes went wide. "Mr. Wooster, sir -- Mr. Jeeves, sir, are you all right?"

Jeeves was a bit woozy from the pain pills the doctor had given him but he nodded politely. "I shall be all right, Mr. Coneybear, thank you," Jeeves said.

"He got mugged," I told him. "It's just awful, what people will do to one another." He didn't need to know the truth any more than Dr. Feldman had.

"Oh, yes sir, Mr. Wooster," he replied. "Is there anything I can do to help you gents?"

Given that Jeeves was leaning rather heavily on me, feeling much like several unbalanced sacks of potatoes over my shoulder, and I'd had a bit of a time helping him from the cab into the building, I thought that might not be such a bad idea. I fished in my pocket for a mo. and pulled out the key to the flat. "Actually, Mr. Coneybear, yes. You could unlock the door for us and let us in, if you would."

He took the key from me, watching us with worried eyes. "Sure thing, sir. You need anything, you let me know, Mr. Wooster." The lift bell dinged and the door opened. Mr. Coneybear pushed a button and the door stayed open for us. "Mr. Jeeves, do you need me to help you along too?"

Jeeves shook his head and I said, "No, he's got broken ribs. I don't think he could lean on both of us without hurting them."

"I fear Mr. Wooster is correct, Mr. Coneybear," Jeeves said. There was a catch in his voice and I could hear how much he was aching. I really just wanted to get him inside and lying down. Mr. Coneybear nodded and unlocked the door for us, holding it open as I helped Jeeves into the flat. His legs had started to get wobbly again. Jeeves tilted a bit and looked toward the kitchen -- his lair was back behind the pantry, but it was awfully small and I was fairly certain the guest room would be more comfortable for him.

"This way, Jeeves," I said, steering him toward the hallway. He stumbled, still dizzy, and Mr. Coneybear tucked in close and eased up on his other side like one of those tugboats easing an ocean liner into the dock, keeping Jeeves from falling. "Oh, good show old chap, thank you." He'd managed it without getting a yelp from Jeeves, which rather impressed me. "Come on then, into the guest room with you."

"But sir," Jeeves started.

"No, Jeeves, your lair is too small and quite out of the way for taking care of you in the next couple of days." We got him into the guest room despite his objections, where we carefully levered him down onto the bed, then helped him to lie down. There was a good bit of hissing and his face was tight with pain, but eventually he was flat on his back, panting just a bit from the effort.

"Here's your key, Mr. Wooster, sir," Mr. Coneybear said, handing it to me. He looked over at Jeeves. "I sure do hope you're doing better soon, Mr. Jeeves," he said. "When me and Mrs. Coneybear's off in church tomorrow, we'll be praying for you."

"Thank you, Mr. Coneybear," Jeeves said. He was barely keeping his eyes open and I really wanted to have him get some rest.

I reached for my wallet. "Let me give you something for your trouble, old thing," I said.

"No sir, Mr. Wooster," he said, shaking his head. "You gents have always been real generous to me, and awful kind." Well, Jeeves was always giving him my most invigorating clothing, so I should think that would qualify as generous on Jeeves's part, at least. "I'm pleased as punch to give you a hand now you're needing it. Like I said, you need something, you let me know. I can make sure to get some hot meals up here to you gents so's Mr. Jeeves won't have to be working on that while he's laid up."

"Well, then," I said, "that sounds quite helpful indeed. Thank you!" I gave him a bright and cheery grin as he departed, then turned my attention to Jeeves and started to untie his shoes.

"Sir," he murmured, already half asleep, "I should be better off in my own room, I think."

"No." I shook my head and dropped one shoe on the floor, starting on the laces of the second. "Jeeves, you can barely move right now. I know how small that little hole of yours is and you need more room than that if you're going to be able to move around without hurting yourself. Don't worry, I'll get your pyjamas and, if you're up to it, I can help you get into them here in a few moments." The other shoe hit the floor with a thump. "Now, be a good chap and unbutton your trousers so I can get them off you. They're all damp about the cuffs and they're hideously cold." He gave me a plaintive look but complied, and I dashed off into his lair to fetch the nightwear for him before he could object.

When I got back to him, he was looking even more pale than he had when I left. He was trying to wriggle about to get his trousers off, but bending was hurting his ribs and he was panting again from the pain. "No, Jeeves, really! Let me do that." I dropped his pyjamas on the bed and tugged the trousers from around his waist, not letting him move too much, then pulled them off him entirely. His socks were wet and cold too, and I got those off him as well. "Right, now let's get these thingummies on you." I helped him with the brown flannel pyjama trousers and he blushed a little at the overfamiliarity of it.

"Sir, there is no need--"

"There bally well is a need, Jeeves. Look at you! Well, all right, you obviously can't look at yourself without a mirror but, seriously, old fruit, if you persist in this wiggling about like a newt you're just going to hurt your ribs even worse." I tugged at the bedclothes beneath him and, between us, we managed to get him under the covers without necessitating another trip to the hospital, though it was a close thing, given the grimacing he was doing.

Finally, both of us a bit out of breath from the effort, I sat on the bed next to him. His plaster cast arm lay over his bare chest, held in place by a sling. I rested one hand on his chest, away from any of his broken bones. His skin there was warm and soft. He covered my hand with his, the white bandages wrapping his knuckles slightly rough on the back of my hand. "Thank you, sir," he murmured. He was obviously utterly knackered. At least he was lying down now, and there was nowhere he had to be and nothing he had to do for at least the next few days.

"Jeeves, old thing." My voice was quiet in the silence of our flat. He looked up at me. "I don't ever want to see you in danger of getting hurt like this again. It pains me, seeing you all bruised and bloody, just because you had a bit of an itch to scratch. I mean to say, it would pain me for any reason at all, really, but this is just entirely excessive when it's happened over such a simple thing."

He regarded me in silence and I watched, waiting for him to speak. I knew he would, of course. He always does eventually. "We both know that such... urges are not a simple thing, sir."

"Well, no, I suppose not, given the risk of two years hard labor and all." I shuddered to think of it.

His head tilted slightly. "That is in Britain, sir. Here in New York, the penalties for such a conviction may extend to as many as twenty years, depending on the perceived severity of the case and the whim of the judge."

I blinked. I'm rather sure my brain froze. "T-twenty years, Jeeves?" I blinked again. "Good Lord, I'd be over fifty at the end of that." I could feel myself gaping like a beached trout. "Twenty years? You're sure?" He nodded, an utter solemnity on his face. "No, Jeeves, I can't possibly let you risk that again, ever."

He paused before he spoke. "And what would you suggest as an alternative, sir?" There was rather a spot of testiness about the edges of the question. "Absolute celibacy?"

I found myself speaking before the Wooster brain had quite kicked into gear. I'd been up for many more hours than I was used to, after all, and the brain-to-mouth connection was suffering severely. "I wonder if perhaps we shouldn't just keep this between ourselves," I heard myself saying, as Jeeves's one good eye went wide. "I've always thought you were a rather handsome specimen and, while I'm not at all a patch on you, old thing, the willowy Wooster form has had its share of admirers over the years." My immediate thought was that I should strangle myself with my own traitorous tongue, because really, why on earth would Jeeves want anything to do with a dim blighter like Bertram Wooster? I was sure I'd utterly offended his feudal spirit, with an extra helping of obliviousness and whatsit.

"S-sir?" He sounded like he'd been suddenly handed an exceedingly large and venomous live squid and wasn't sure what to do with the thing. Are squids venomous? Well, this one was, at any rate.

I could feel myself flush with furious embarrassment. "I -- Oh, dash it, Jeeves, I'm sorry. That really was entirely daft of me. It is absolutely not the act of a _preux chevalier_ to suggest manhandling the manservant, particularly when said manservant is injured and has done nothing to even hint at inviting such a thing. Do forgive me. Forget I ever said anything, would you?" I removed my hand from his chest quite quickly and started to stand. "I'll just--"

Jeeves fixed me with a look of utter, bewildered astonishment and reached up to take my wrist. I stood, uncertain about what might be coming next. Once he'd found his wits again, he said, "I... I shall... consider your offer, sir."

"You will?" I think I was gaping like that beached t. again as I stared down at him. He nodded carefully, so as not to jiggle his slightly dented brain. "Oh."

"I appreciate your concern for my wellbeing, sir," he said slowly, still sounding entirely poleaxed.

"You should get some sleep, Jeeves," I told him, suddenly aware of how warm his hand was around my wrist.

"Thank you, sir. I shall." His fingers tightened just a bit, then he let go of my arm. He watched as I turned out the light, a pensive look on his face. "Good night, sir."

"Good night, Jeeves."

***

I'm afraid I didn't sleep well, what with listening for Jeeves to make sure he was all right, and the occasional dream featuring said paragon of valets. I must admit I hadn't anticipated my hasty and un-thought-out comment to result in such fruity things happening inside the old onion. It wasn't that I'd never had such thoughts, or even such dreams before, mind you. Jeeves really is a nice looking chap, what with his dark hair, those blue eyes of his, and the fine form he keeps with his hauling nets of shrimp about and such. He's got a noble profile despite the crooked nose, which on him only succeeds in looking dashing.

Having awakened in the late afternoon, I was feeling quite hollow about the middle, but the tum was twisting a bit because I was worried about what Jeeves might have to say to me when I went in to see how he was doing. It wasn't so much the prospect of being turned down, mind you -- no, it was more the idea that he might have decided what I'd suggested was entirely improper and choose to take his feudal spirit elsewhere. Quite frightening, really, and not a thing I thought I could face if I were honest with myself.

I splashed the corpus about in the bath until it was clean, then got myself dressed. Since Jeeves wasn't picking the togs for me today, I decided I could wear what I bally well wanted, thank you very much, and I found myself a cheery red and blue check pullover knitted vest that I'd been saving for a day when I needed a bit of a pick me up. Having Jeeves flat on his back certainly seemed to call for a bit of cheering, at any rate. I knotted my goldenrod yellow tie about my neck and popped out to have a brief word with Mr. Coneybear about having someone bring up tea for Jeeves and myself and handed him a fiver to pay for the food and his assistance. He assured me, with a broad grin, that he'd see to it right away.

It was about fifteen minutes before Mr. Coneybear knocked on the door with the goods. He assured me that what I'd given him before was more than sufficient when I tried to tip him. I took the tea and the food into the kitchen to attempt an arrangement on a tray so I could take things in to Jeeves. When I entered his temporary abode, however, he took one look at me and blanched.

"Jeeves?" I said quietly, setting the tray down on the bedside table. "What's the matter, old thing? You're looking positively ill." I sat on the bed to get a good look at him, laying a palm on his forehead to see if he were for some reason feverish. I dearly hoped he was all right.

"I fear I require a doctor, sir," he said, blinking his one eye at me. His voice quavered slightly.

"What's wrong?" I asked, wondering how fast a physician could get here. He didn't feel feverish, but that didn't mean anything, given how hard he'd been hit on the head last night.

He shuddered delicately. "I believe I must be hallucinating, sir. You appear to be wearing a blue and red checked pullover vest and... and a goldenrod tie, sir." He put his hand over his eyes and then looked at me again. "Oh, dear. It's still there."

I drew myself up in a bit of a dudgeon. "You're not hallucinating, Jeeves. That is, in fact, what I am wearing today. Cheerful, isn't it?" I grinned brightly at him and offered him an arm to help him sit up against the pillows so he could be comfortable and eat.

"Cheerful is not the word I would have chosen, sir," he said, the stuffed frog mask firmly if queasily in place. He eyed me with a deep and abiding suspicion. "Might I suggest another ensemble altogether?"

"No, Jeeves, you may not. What you may do is let me help you sit up and then have something to eat. You must be famished."

Jeeves grudgingly allowed me to help him sit, showing occasional small signs of pain in his ribs. Once he was up against the head of the bed, he murmured, "I fear my appetite has deserted me, sir." He stared at my vest and tie. I had the distinct feeling that if he stared for too long, they might burst into flame.

"Oh, come now, Jeeves, really. It's just a pullover vest and a tie. It's not like I'm having dinner in my pyjamas and a sweater, like Rocky does." He gave another slight shiver and accepted the plate I handed him. "Did you manage to sleep at all, Jeeves?" I asked, hoping to change the subject away from Bertram's sartorial sense.

"It was difficult, sir," he admitted softly, looking down, displeased, at the plate I'd handed him. He looked up at my face, avoiding my chestal area entirely. "My head still hurts quite abominably. Are you sure you could not be persuaded to wear something slightly less... bright?" he asked. "It might ease my headache, sir."

I blinked. "You're serious, aren't you? This isn't just one of those wheezes to get me out of a tie you don't like."

"I fear that is the case, sir. Those colors, in that particular combination, are causing me considerable pain, sir." There was a tightness about his eyes and his voice that suggested it was genuinely hurting his head to look at me. I sighed.

"I do apologize, Jeeves. I'll go put on something more sedate and valet-approved, and bring you some aspirin."

"Thank you, sir. I cannot adequately express my appreciation for this act of kindness." He kept his face averted until I'd beetled off to look for something somewhat more sombre. It was a saddened Bertram who removed the goldenrod tie and the red and blue checked pullover vest. I replaced them with a camel pullover vest and the brown tie I usually wore with my tweed traveling suit, since I was wearing tan-ish trousers and a cream colored shirt. I wasn't sure if Jeeves would approve, but at least he might be able to look at me without his head exploding.

When I returned to the guest room with the aspirin, Jeeves had set the plate back on the bedside table and was nibbling rather delicately at his sandwich. I'd been entirely dim when I'd handed him the plate -- he had only one hand to use and he couldn't hold his plate and eat at the same time. I blushed. He looked up, an expression of relief on his face when he saw I was no longer wearing the offending articles. "Will this do, Jeeves?"

"Yes, sir," he nodded. "The combination is much less alarming and I will admit it is far less headache inducing."

"Well, that's good, then." I sat with him again and snatched a sandwich from my own plate. The lines of pain around his eyes were less pronounced; that was a relief to see. I wasn't sure if I should remind him of last night's conversation or not. I still felt rather awkward at having brought it up in the first place, but I had honestly only been thinking of keeping him safe when I'd made the offer. I hoped he would realize that and not hold it against the young master.

Once we'd finished our meal and he'd taken the various pills the doctor had loaded us down with when we left the hospital, I helped Jeeves up to deal with his various necessities. It was so odd to see him in just his pyjama trousers and a sling, all bruised and bandaged. There was something terribly vulnerable about him, looking like that. He moved stiffly and painfully, though thankfully he didn't appear to be dizzy anymore. There was something slightly unnerving about seeing him as just a man, not as the perfectly turned out, nearly superhuman being I'd always thought of him as before. He'd always seemed so entirely untouchable, for so many reasons.

I left him in the _saille de bain_ to fend for himself, as one doesn't want to impose on a chap's more private bodily functions, but after the bath was run, I heard a quiet, "Sir?" as I waited in the sitting room.

Fearful that he might have done something that had caused him to hurt himself, I was at the door in a flash and opened it a crack. "Jeeves? Are you all right, old thing?"

"I fear I am... unable to get into the bath by myself, sir." I looked in, and there he stood, naked but for the cast, staring into the tub. He looked up at me, flushing, and snagged a towel from the rail, holding it in front of his private bits. "The pain in my ribs, sir," he said. "Sitting is extremely difficult without bending my waist most uncomfortably."

"Oh, dear." I entered, not looking directly at him, in hopes of preserving at least a bit of his modesty. "Here, then, let me help you get in." He nodded and I took the towel from him as I slipped an arm about him and braced his weight so that he could ease himself down slowly into the warm and soapy, with his broken arm resting gingerly on the lip of the tub. "I say, Jeeves, if you can't bend much, will you need a bit of a hand with, you know, washing your back and whatnot?"

He had a singularly nonplussed expression on his face when he looked up at me from his seat in the tub. He tried twisting his waist, slow and careful, but hissed and gave a sharp grimace before he'd got very far. "I'm afraid so, sir," he muttered, obviously embarrassed.

"Right-ho," I said, and snapped up the loofa. I wetted it down and soaped it, then started in on his back, being careful of his bruises and the places where his ribs were broken. "I'll just swish off your back and get out of your way so you can deal with the rest of it, then, shall I?"

He leaned slightly forward as I gave his back a gentle burnishing. "If I cannot bend, sir, I will also be unable to wash my hair."

"Oh," I said. "I hadn't thought of that, but you're quite right."

"I would normally take a shower, sir, but the cast--"

"Yes, of course, of course." The doctor had been quite ada... adapant? No, adamant. He'd been adamant that Jeeves not get the plaster wet, lest dire things happen. This meant that, at least for a week or so, I was probably going to have to help Jeeves with all of this, until he could bend again without doing himself a harm. When I was done with the loofa, I handed it to Jeeves and got to work on his hair. "I'm sorry you're not able to do for yourself, old fruit, but I'd like to think I'm not entirely useless." I managed to avoid getting any shampoo in his eyes; his hair was very soft between my fingers. It was quite pleasant, really, though I had to be very careful not to get the stitches on his head wet. We'd have to change the bandage there when he was dry again. Once we'd finished that cautious operation, he brushed his slick, wet hair from his eyes and looked up at me, taking my wrist in his hand.

There was a thoughtful look on his face. His puffy black eye was still quite an appalling mess. We'd need to put more ice on it once he was back in bed, I thought. "You are not at all useless, sir," he said, his voice as thoughtful as his face. "Thank you for your assistance. I shall call you again when I need to rise."

"See that you do," I said, and left to let him do the rest of the Jeeves swabbing. I spent that time taking the tray from the guest room into the kitchen, and finding a clean pair of pyjama trousers for him to get into once he was dry again. Getting him out of the tub was slightly trickier, given how slippery wet things tend to be, but we managed with minimal soaking of my clothing, and no further damage to the Jeevesian form. I ended up having to help him towel off, as well. Who would have thought that having broken ribs and only one functional arm would be such a bally challenge when it came to the most basic of daily tasks?

Once he'd been ensconced back in bed with his bandages changed, I offered to find one of his improving books for him. "What would you like, Jeeves? Spinoza? Some of the poet Burns, perhaps?"

One corner of his lips twitched upward a few hairs. "I would greatly enjoy a book, sir, but I would like to speak with you briefly first, if I may?"

Oh, well, I thought. Here it comes. I braced myself for whatever might happen as I took a seat facing him on the bed.

"I..." He swallowed uneasily. Jeeves was nervous? Now that was quite extraordinary. Something on the order of vikings deciding they didn't like going to sea or pillaging or what have you. "I have given some thought to the suggestion you made last night, sir," he said. "I must ask, sir, if you were in earnest when you proposed this."

I nodded cautiously, like unto a somewhat fearful rabbit on watch for ravening foxes. "I was only thinking of keeping you safe, Jeeves," I said. "I certainly don't want to see you hurt again, or to see you bunged in chokey for God only knows how long."

His lips pursed for a moment, looking down at his bandaged knuckles and the cast on his arm. "Sir... if you are still amenable, perhaps we might come to an understanding regarding this situation."

A weight lifted from my shoulders and suddenly I found I was breathing again. I hadn't realized I'd stopped. There was a bit of a whoosh, like a balloon popping but in reverse, as my lungs filled with air. "Well, then." I looked at him and he raised his face to meet the Wooster e.s. "What, er, should we do about this? I mean, how do you think we should proceed, Jeeves?" I hadn't thought what might happen if he said yes, but at least that meant he wouldn't be leaving.

"At the moment, sir, I fear I could do nothing more than contemplate the situation. It is not entirely unheard of for a gentleman and his personal attendant to engage in such activities, though one must be quite circumspect when that is the case."

"No doubt," I said. "I've known a few like that myself. You know what kinds of things can go on in those large country houses, after all. Gardens and gazebos and rooms that haven't been opened in a hundred years and whatnot."

"Of course, sir."

"I don't ever want you to feel that the young master is making any unreasonable demands on you, Jeeves. I rather meant this to benefit both of us."

He nodded. "I understand, sir. I have no fear that you would take undue advantage of our situation. You have always been extremely kind and generous." That warmed the Wooster cockles, I will admit. I smiled at him.

"You do know I've always been quite fond of you, don't you, Jeeves?"

"I am of a similar sentiment regarding you, sir." There was a distinct lightening of his aspect. The lips quirked upward and there was a hint of affection in his eye. I reached out and lay one hand over his. "It pleases me that you would say so, though," he said.

"If you need anything or... or want anything from me, Jeeves, you've only to ask. Don't feel you must wait for me to offer. You know how oblivi-whatsit I can be sometimes. Not seeing what's perched on the tip of my nose and all that. Bertram does occasionally require being beaten sharply about the head and shoulders with a clue."

There was the smallest hint of a chuckle. "Yes, sir. I have noted this tendency."

Though he was almost smiling, there was a distinct suggestion of a sag to Jeeves's person. "I say, Jeeves, there's a distinct a suggestion of a sag to you at the moment. Do you need a bit of a kip, by chance?"

He nodded. "I do, sir, though if you could bring an ice pack for my eye, it would be most helpful."

"Oh, certainly!" I scrambled to my feet and made a dash for the kitchen. It took a few minutes for me to get an ice pack together without spilling ice cubes everywhere, but eventually I got them corralled in their tea towel, twisted securely to prevent their escape, and back to Jeeves. Handing it to him, I got an arm under him and helped him lie down again before he plopped the thing over his swollen-shut peeper. "Will you be all right now?" I asked. "I'll go bring you a book if you like, so it'll be here when you wake up."

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir." With a last tuck of the sheets about Jeeves's parts -- and they were quite fine parts, as I could testify with some accuracy having now seen them in their altogether -- I left him to get a bit of rest.

***

Jeeves was in the way of needing help just to get out of bed for a few days, what with the ache in his ribs. I could see it was troubling him to ask, as it intruded terribly upon his feudal spirit. He was keeping an utterly starched upper lip about it, naturally, but I could see that it pained him. Thankfully, the immense black eye he'd got was simmering down a bit and he was starting to be able to open it again at last. Looking into that fine, noble face and seeing part of it gone purple and half a dozen other shades one doesn't dare wear together was quite sobering and not a little distressing.

Most of the bandages he'd been bundled in at first weren't necessary now, but we were still keeping the stitches bandaged up. It would be several more days before the doctor would be by to remove them. This morning, I'd helped him into the bath and had begun the ritual scrubbing of the Jeevesian back. Having had four days to contemplate my valet in nothing but his skin for several minutes each morning, I found myself quite distracted by the way soapy trails ran down his chest when I was on my knees scrubbing his shoulder. I couldn't help my eyes following.

He has a lovely chest, you know. Broad and muscular with a little dark, curly hair and brown nipples and... oh dear. I found my fingers following the slow track of the water, quite unable to help myself. Jeeves turned his head to look at me. "Sir?" His voice was soft, almost hesitant.

I wanted this. I wanted to touch him, to feel his skin under my hand. Our eyes met. "May I?" I whispered. After he'd agreed that we might come to an understanding, as he'd put it, neither of us had mentioned it again. I think we were both a bit afraid of what might happen, really. I mean to say, living under the same roof and all, it could turn out badly and then where would we be? I didn't want him to leave, after all.

I think he was thinking similar things as he looked at me. Finally, he nodded. "Yes, sir." We held each other's eyes; I'm not sure I could have looked away right then if someone had come at me with a pry bar. My hand flattened out, pressing gently against the warm, wet skin of his chest. I could feel his sparse, wiry hair under my thumb as I let it move in a slow arc and Jeeves relaxed slightly. I looked down at my hand on his body.

Leaning in slightly, my lips met the soft skin of his neck and he sighed a ghostly fragment of a sigh, tilting his head back to rest against the rim of the tub. He tasted ever so slightly of soap. I slipped my hand carefully down his chest and into the water, over his firm tummy. My other hand dropped the loofa into the water and rested on his shoulder as I kissed his throat again, open-mouthed, wanting to know what he felt like, how he sounded when he came undone.

I took my time, just running my hand slowly over his body. It had been months -- a year maybe -- since I'd last even touched anyone like this. The fact that it was Jeeves I was doing this to was more than slightly astonishing. I suppose I had always considered him above such things, not really needing anything of the sort like the rest of humanity did. He felt entirely bally amazing, a combination of firm muscle and soft skin and rough hair. I realized my sleeve was getting soaked but I didn't care a whit about it, reaching down further to caress a hip, then a thigh, feeling him move under me, groaning softly as the back of my hand brushed past his hardening prick. "Yes, please, yes," he whispered, his voice rough and low, turning my insides entirely to jelly as I slowly kissed my way down his chest to one delightfully tight nipple.

I felt Jeeves's wet, warm hand slip over my shoulder to cup the back of my neck, getting my shirt even wetter. His fingers moved, strong but gentle, teasing at the short hair at the base of my skull. He gasped quietly when I finally grasped his prick and began stroking him. He was longish and thick and I thought about all the things we might get up to with that when he didn't have any broken bones anymore. I sucked at his skin, I licked him, I teased at his nipples with my teeth, and his hips lifted, splashing the water a bit as he pressed into my hand to follow my strokes. "Oh, sir..." I could hear the pleasure in his voice and felt quite delighted that I was the one who had put that sound there. I'd been worried at first that this Wooster would not be up to snuff when it came to giving satisfaction to a paragon like Jeeves, but it seemed he was quite enjoying what I was doing; I will admit it was dashed encouraging when I lifted my eyes and watched his face as I gave him the best of my efforts.

He was breathing heavily now, his fingers tightening on the back of my neck, squeezing as he guided my head back down to where I could play with his nipples again. Just the sound of him had got me all stirred up, and the feel of him under my hands and mouth made me hard enough to ache. I wanted him so very badly, wishing I could just bung him into my bed and do all manner of quite wicked things to him, but the man did have two broken ribs and a broken arm -- it would be some time before I could have anything of the sort happen, even assuming he wanted the same things I did.

My hand moved more quickly and Jeeves's hips kept time as best he could, his breath coming hard and fast as I urged him silently to finish. It felt so dashed good to hold him like this, to hear the sounds he made as he got closer and closer to the edge. Finally, with a shudder and a sharp, quiet cry, he found his peak and went over. I held him in my arms as he regained his breath. There was a mix of pain and pleasure in his face when his breathing finally steadied.

"Are you all right, old thing? Did I hurt your ribs?"

He took my hand in his, his head still lolling back on the edge of the tub. "I will admit that my ribs hurt, sir, but that pain is entirely secondary to the exquisite pleasure I have just experienced." He was glowing just a bit around the edges as he said it and I couldn't help but give him a broad grin in return. "If you would sit here on the edge of the tub, sir, I would be quite delighted to return the favor." It was at this point that he actually smiled. I was so bally astonished by the sight that I couldn't think for a moment, but he tugged at my hand and I remembered my own body and how rather painfully in need I was myself right then.

"Oh, rather," I said, hefting myself up from my knees to sit on the edge of the tub. He tugged at my flies, but with only one functional hand, it was much more of a challenge than he'd expected, so I tugged open the trousers myself. I had to bite my lip when he touched me, not wanting to spill myself right then. He was giving me a look like I was his favorite sort of sweet. A moment later, he had an arm about my hips and had leaned carefully forward to take me into his mouth. I nearly fell into the tub at that, barely managing to save myself with a swift hand catching the opposite edge of the basin. "Good Lord, Jeeves, warn a man, would you?" I yelped.

He looked up at me with the most devilish expression on his face. "Is this not to your satisfaction, sir?" he asked, smooth as a trainload of smug silkworms.

"Gah! Don't you dare stop!" He grinned a terribly evil grin, the likes of which had never graced his countenance in the entire time I'd known him, and put his head back in my lap to swallow me whole. It was the best thing I'd felt in nearly forever -- hot and wet and swirling and sucking and oh good God. I swear I couldn't think for the next however-long it was before I was coming off like a cannon. I regret to say that I fell into the tub when I was done, but thankfully it wasn't on Jeeves's ribs. More between his knees, really. Bally embarrassing. I got entirely soaked and there was water all over the floor. Both of us laughed as I dragged my soggy corpus out of the tub and gave Jeeves a hand to finish washing up before I hauled him to his feet again.

After I'd helped him step out onto the rather wet and slippery floor, I realized that it would be near impossible to get any wetter, so I took Jeeves in my arms and held him against me, resting my chin on his shoulder. He rested his cast arm against my back and held me with his good arm, stroking my back slowly as he pressed his cheek against my temple. "Thank you, sir," he said softly, and I could hear the hint of humor still in his voice. "That was quite unexpectedly delightful."

"I didn't hurt you when I fell, did I, Jeeves?" I will admit I was a bit concerned.

He shook his head. "Not at all, sir. Were you injured when you struck the lip of the tub?"

"Nothing more than a bruise, I'm sure," I said, not letting go of him.

"I am glad to hear that, sir." He reached up and caressed the damask Wooster cheek. "I believe we should both clothe ourselves in something dry now, lest we find ourselves becoming ill with a cold." There was a strong suggestion of fondness and even a bit of a twinkle in the man's blue e.s as he spoke.

"Oh. Well. Yes. The togs are getting a bit chill and clammy, I suppose."

"Indeed, sir."

***

About a week later, when Jeeves was back on his feet enough to return to his own lair and take up wearing clothing again instead of pyjamas, we ran into another bit of inconvenience. It seemed that one hand was not enough to fasten one's own trousers, nor tie one's shoes. It was with great reluctance that he asked my assistance that morning.

"But Jeeves, why are you putting on your valeting uniform? Really, old thing, you're not supposed to work yet, and I don't see how on earth you'll be able to get your morning coat on over your cast anyway." I flung a stern and disapproving eye over the pinstripes he was attempting to don.

He straightened up and put on his dignity, which I assume was easier for him than his trousers currently were. "I am only attempting to do my duty, sir," he said. "I have allowed the flat to descend into a distasteful amount of chaos in the last week."

"Doctor Feldman hasn't said you can work yet, Jeeves. You do remember him saying two to three weeks before he'll even release you for light duty, don't you?" He held his trousers up around his waist with one hand, still managing to look quite superior to the average specimen despite the handicap. "I must insist you give up on this absurd notion of working when you can't even button your own trousers!" That caused a slight flush to the Jeevesian cheek. He deflated ever so slightly. "I'm not going to help you get dressed unless you're wearing something that isn't your uniform, old fruit. I'd suggest complying, unless you relish the idea of going about the flat in your underthings." I crossed my arms and gave him a look of triumph. It wasn't often that I got the upper hand with him, after all. One must never become a slave to one's valet. Two men of iron will in the same flat, and all that rot.

He displayed a distinct lack of gruntlement at this. There was a bit of one-handed fumbling with his flies that resulted in his trousers about his knees and a great deal of blushing on his part. I will admit I found the sitch rather amusing. Eventually, Jeeves surrendered to the inevitable and traded in his pinstripes for a pair of grey trousers and I gave a gracious hand -- or rather, two hands -- to his aid and succor. I will also admit to taking a little more time than necessary, and giving him a bit of a friendly caress about the thighs and his quite smashing bottom. One corner of his lips lifted a few molecules into a fair approximation of a fond Jeevesian smile as our fingers brushed.

By the time we got everything on him, he was looking quite different than the Jeeves I was used to. He did have to roll one sleeve up over his cast in order to get it on at all; he wouldn't have been able to fasten the cuff over it. I could tell the informality rankled him, but he seemed relieved, at least, to be wearing clothes at all. I thought him rather handsome and a bit rakish, what with the rolled up sleeve and all. All of this seeing him in pyjamas and his skin and the clothes he wore when he wasn't working, it had been showing me a very different man than I'd known before. While it had peeled away a layer or two of mystery, it had also made him approachable at last; I found that I liked this Jeeves very much and found myself wanting to know him considerably better.

When he mentioned starting some breakfast, I put my foot down. "No, Jeeves. If you cannot even button your own trousers or tie your own shoes, I have no idea how you'll handle pots and pans and whatnot. I'll take you out to the diner a few blocks from here, if you think you're up for the walk, old thing."

"Very good, sir," he said, in the way that usually managed to suggest I go boil my head. He couldn't very well refuse, because if he wasn't up to walking four blocks, he certainly wasn't up to working. His brow darkened but he let me help him get his coat on, his cast arm held snug in its sling under the breast of his long woolen coat.

I wrapped his scarf about his neck. Said wrapping might have had the slightest hint of an embrace to it, if one were looking closely. At the end of the wrapping process, I found myself nose to nose with him, but I couldn't look away from his eyes. We stood there, very still, with my hands on his shoulders and I wondered if the world had just tilted slightly, because everything in me felt pulled toward him like magnets when you hold them close enough to fling themselves at one another. He put his hand on my waist. It was very warm. His hand, I mean, not my waist. "Sir," he murmured; there was a rummy softness in his voice that did something liquifying to my cardiac region. I blinked and stepped back to get his hat for him.

He set his bowler atop everything as I took my own coat and hat from the closet. "Now then, Jeeves, you can see that I really am perfectly competent to dress myself if I must. After all, I do so every year when you're on holiday."

"You have a temporary valet in while I'm on holiday, sir."

"Well, yes, but I don't like it."

"Indeed, sir." Jeeves gave me a look that said he disagreed with my choice of waistcoat, but he knew better than to argue at this juncture.

He moved at something slightly less than his usual shimmer as we walked to the diner. I offered him my arm, given how icy the sidewalks were, and he took it after a moment's hesitation, an odd thingness in his eyes as he looked at me. The day looked like it was considering the appeal of becoming a blizzard, and snow drifted down with an enthusiasm usually reserved for small children pelting one another with snowballs. The fading bruises on his face seemed to stand out more against the cold white of the swirling snow; it was hard to see him like this without being angry all over again about how badly he'd been beaten. I sighed and tucked his arm tighter within mine. It wasn't like there was anything I could do about that now, but there was still a strong feeling of protectiveness beating within the Wooster breast.

Breakfast was congenial despite the dim morning and the falling snow. We sat by the window and watched the traffic and the people walking by in the street as we ate. We talked a little of this and that. Jeeves noted that I hadn't been out to the Pumpkin Club since he'd been hurt. "It is not your usual habit to stay away from your club for so long, sir," he said. "Have you not wished to see your friends there?"

I shrugged. "Most of them have been out of town for the holidays, Jeeves. A few might finally be getting back into the city, but really, I've been more concerned that you might need help and I wouldn't want to leave you dangling. Corky and the rest can wait a bit. I rather doubt they've been pining for me like a whatsit that pines and dies."

"I am more able to manage now, sir."

"You're also entirely more likely to attempt to actually do something if my back is turned," I said suspiciously, waving my fork at him. "I know you, Jeeves. You are not content to be still. You rankle. You simmer. You're like a bally hummingbird, always moving."

One eyebrow tilted a few hairs out of alignment. "It is true, sir, that I prefer to have something to occupy myself, but I would not characterize myself as being in any way similar to a hummingbird."

"Well," I said, "I'm just concerned that this occupying of yourself might take the form of the forbidden fruit of attempting to do things that require two hands."

He had the look of a valet whose clever plot had been unearthed along with the body in the back garden. "I am becoming somewhat restless from the inactivity, sir."

"Then we shall just have to find something to occupy you, shan't we?" I said, and I meant it to sting.

He flushed. "Sir!"

"Oh, I say." I hadn't quite meant that, but now that the thought had been planted, one might give it due consideration, what? I grinned.

Jeeves coughed like a slightly embarrassed sheep on a distant hillock. "Sir," he said again, much more quietly, a furtive look in his baby blues.

"Well," I said. "Now I do have something to consider once we've returned to our quiet abode." Quite a number of somethings, actually. Since we had come to our understanding, as it were, I'd had my hands on my man rather frequently, much to our mutual delight. He hadn't been well enough for anything particularly strenuous, but some of the lighter bruising was gone now and he had been moving a bit more easily.

The color remained in his cheeks as he regarded me with a heated gaze. I could feel bits of me melting under it, like things that melt in a desert. "Indeed, sir." This particular 'indeed, sir' sounded like a purr and hit like a cricket bat, and my trousers were suddenly entirely too tight.

"I see you're done with your breakfast, Jeeves," I said. "It seems I am as well." I waved a hand at the waitress and asked for our check.

Unfortunately, once we got back to the flat, the privacy we'd intended escaped us, bounding off over the horizon like a frightened gazelle. My pal Corky Corcoran, artist and bohemian privacy thief, rang the bell and requested entrance.

"Bertie!" He looked puzzled and then looked around. "Is it Jeeves's day off or something? You're not usually the sort to answer your own door."

"I am right here, sir," Jeeves said, shimmering up silently behind me and startling both of us with his sudden appearance.

Corky gawped. "Good God, Jeeves, what happened to you?"

"May I take your hat and coat, sir?" Jeeves reached out to do his valetly best but I held up a hand to stop him.

"Now, Jeeves, none of that. You are not working right now." I took Corky's thingummies and bunged them into the closet. "He was mugged, Corky old fruit. Dashed awful. He's not to be working for at least another week or two, according to the doctor."

Jeeves closed the door behind Corky, a look of satisfaction on his face for having done so. "Wow," Corky said, still giving Jeeves a sharp and inquisitive eye. "Looks like they really worked you over. You okay?"

"I am recovering, sir," Jeeves said, with a slight incline of his head. "Thank you for inquiring."

"Away with you, Jeeves." I shooed him off with a wave of the hand. "Take yourself off and read an improving book or something. I shall attend to my guest." I hoped I could attend to him quickly and get him out the door again so that I could find mutually agreeable ways to keep Jeeves occupied.

"Very good, sir." He gave me a look that continued his earlier theme in re. lack of gruntlement and vanished in a puff of inscrutability.

"I didn't think he had regular people clothes," Corky said as I led him into the sitting room and offered him a seat.

"Even valets will occasionally doff the mask, old thing. What is it that brings you by at this less than Godly hour of the ack emma?" It wasn't even quite noon yet. I prefer a leisurely morning, in contrast to Jeeves's habit of waking the birds with a gentle cough, but Corky was -- like most of those artistic chaps -- the sort who felt noon was much too early to regain consciousness. It was rather unusual to see him about at an hour like this.

"It's this girl, Bertie. Her name's Charlotte Meyers-Basting and she's the most absolutely gorgeous thing you ever laid eyes on. I met her at my uncle's place over Christmas." He dropped himself onto the chesterfield, a look of deepest soul's awakening in his eyes.

I poured myself a b. and s., even though it was well before the cocktail hour. "What's so urgent that you're here before your usual hour of rising, old thing?"

"It's Charlotte! I got a telegram from her. She's going to be in town later this afternoon and my entire place is buried in canvases right now. I can't have her over until I've got my things over to the gallery later this week. I mean, there's not even room to stand in a corner right now. I need a place to meet her and you're just the guy for me! I mean really, with this place, I couldn't lose!"

"But why here, Corky? Can't you just meet her at some restaurant? Surely that would be the easiest thing to do."

Corky gave me a desperate look. "Privacy, Bertie! There has to be at least a little."

"What? Are you saying you want to borrow my flat for... for _canoodling_?" I dashed back the b. and s. "Really, Corky, I know you artists are a bit bohemian, but that's--"

"Not what I'm asking!" He flailed a bit, looking rather like a stork who'd lost its balance after slipping on a banana peel. "She hates crowds, Bertie, has an absolute horror of them. She's got her sister Prudence with her and between her sister and you, and of course your man Jeeves, there would be more than enough respectable company that nobody would think anything untoward was happening. Right?"

I set my glass on the side table and folded my arms at him. "Corky, you're entirely mad. Have you seen the place?" I waved a hand at the unsettled cushions. "Jeeves hasn't been able to lift a hand for the last week. He'd singlehandedly give birth to kittens if I asked him to entertain here tonight. You just saw him; he's got his arm in a cast and two broken ribs. I can't possibly ask him to tidy up and cook. Do you have any idea how hard it's been, trying to keep him off his feet at all?"

"So you can hire somebody to come in for the night," Corky said. "You've got the bucks. Really, Bertie -- be a pal here! I'm desperate!"

The Code of the Woosters demanded that I do something, but I wasn't sure what. I obviously couldn't set a couple of fillies loose in the flat without every speck of dust chased away by Jeeves's feather duster, and he was not to be wielding one just yet. "I say we put it to Jeeves, old fruit. Perhaps he'll have an alternative suggestion, what?"

Corky nodded. "That would be okay. He's pretty good at that thinking of something stuff. Except for that bit when he ended up getting the gal I was all soft on married to my uncle!"

"Right ho," I said. "That can't very well happen again, can it? Jeeves!"

Jeeves materialized at my side a moment later. It was a slightly longer moment than such materialization would usually take, but what with broken ribs and such, I could certainly forgive him for it. "Yes, sir?"

"Jeeves, old fruit, we have a problem to which you need to turn your fish-fed brain."

"Indeed, sir." He looked quite chuffed, an air of satisfaction settling about his broad shoulders like a mink stole. At least now he had something to do that wasn't going to make his ribs creak.

Corky put the situation to the resident marvel, complete with extravagant descriptions of the divine goddess in question and her unreasoning dislike of crowds. I sat back and watched the Jeevesian mind slide smoothly into gear.

"May I suggest, Mr. Corcoran, that you engage a private room at one of the many fine restaurants in the city. This would allow privacy with Miss Meyers-Basting and her sister while avoiding the necessity of the use of either your own flat or Mr. Wooster's."

I could not restrain my grin. "Dashed brilliant, Jeeves! Could you ring one of them up and make the arrangements?" That, at least, he could do with only one hand.

"Of course, sir."

Corky nodded. "Sure, Bertie, that sounds like a great idea, but I still need you to come along with me. Someone needs to keep Prudence company, after all."

"Are you sure, Corky? I mean to say, these things usually end up with Bertram accidentally engaged to someone. Every desperate beazel on two continents has made the attempt." That, and I had no interest in deserting Jeeves when we had some rather fruity possibilities for keeping him occupied to discuss.

Corky laughed. "Oh, no, don't worry, Bertie. Prudence has been talking of nothing but this guy named Alexander the entire time I've known her."

I relaxed slightly. Perhaps this would not be quite the unmitigated disaster I feared. "Well, perhaps it won't be quite the unmitigated disaster I feared," I said. "All right, then, Jeeves, get us reservations for four in some private nook so that Corky can woo his goddess, would you?"

"Very good, sir." He biffed over to the phone to set things in motion.

"And mind you, Jeeves, you are not to be working tonight while I'm out. You are still expressly under doctor's orders not to be valeting and whatnot."

"Of course, sir." His demeanor stiffened slightly. He's always been a bally stubborn bird.

That settled, Corky hung about for several hours like a limpet or a barnacle upon Bertram's hull. I nearly had to scrape him off with an ash tray to get him to dash home and dress for dinner. By the time I was rid of him, I had to spend time getting ready myself and I was sore displeased by this turn of events.

***

It was a dashed distressed Bertram who returned to the Stuyvesant Towers flat in the wee hours. It was exactly as I had prevaricated. No, that's not the word. Whatever it was that Cassandra beazel was doing when nobody believed her. Prognostications, I suppose. Predictions. Yes, exactly as I had predicted. Only this particular distress was much more distressful than I'd anticipated because it wasn't Prudence who'd thrown herself at the Wooster charm, but Corky's gal Charlotte!

Needless to say, not only was I out of sorts, but Corky was cursing my name in the way only chaps from New York seem able to do. I was distraught. I was up to my neck in soup. Only Jeeves could save me now.

When I stumbled through the door, the flat was disconcertingly neat and clean and there was no sign of Jeeves.

"Jeeves?" I flicked on a few more lights, which only revealed further cleanliness. Making my way back to his lair, I found a spotlessly clean kitchen, which worried me to no end. I tapped gently on the door to Jeeves's lair and got a quiet, pained sound for my reward. Opening the door, I discovered Jeeves looking entirely too pale, his face lined with pain, lying on his bed still half-dressed. "Oh, dear! Jeeves!" Thoughts of my imminent shackling fled momentarily as I beetled over to his bedside. "Good Lord, Jeeves, what did you think you were doing?"

He looked up at me and I could see he was sweating slightly. I sat on the bed next to him and put a hand on his forehead. He wasn't actually feverish, thankfully, but he may well have been before I'd got home. "I do apologize, sir," he said, and his voice was rough and a bit ragged.

"I thought I was the mentally negligible one, Jeeves. You know you're not supposed to be biffing about setting the place to rights just yet."

"It had grown quite unbearable, sir," he said quietly.

I shook my head sadly. "And have you at least taken those pain pills the doctor gave you?"

"No, sir," he murmured. "By the time I had finished with my duties, I found myself unable to open the bottle."

"Jeeves, I never thought I would say this, but you are a first-class chump." I rose and got the pills for him, and a glass of water to wash them down. He had tilted himself up enough to take them by the time I'd returned, but it was like watching a wounded seal looking piteously at the sea from a rock beyond the high tide mark, if the seal were dressed in sharply creased grey trousers. I sat with him and tucked an arm behind his shoulders to help him out a bit. By the looks of things, he'd managed to completely wipe out any progress he might have made over the past week where his ribs were concerned. "I hope you'll take your doctor's advice -- and my strict instructions to not hurt yourself -- to heart now, at the very least."

"Yes, sir. I shall endeavor to remember that idleness is, in fact, somewhat preferable to this level of pain."

With a sigh, I urged him up to his feet. "Come along, now. I obviously can't trust you not to try to get out of bed tomorrow morning and attempt to make breakfast, so you're sleeping in my bed with me. It's the only thing I can think of to make sure you don't do anything even more idiotic."

He blinked at me, wobbling to an upright position with my arm around him. "Y-your bed, sir?" There was a hint of disbelief in his voice.

"Well, I'm certainly not going to sleep in here!" Really. The place was tiny and the bed barely fit him by himself. "You couldn't possibly expect us both to fit."

"But, sir--" He looked alarmed, in that eyes slightly widened way he has.

I glowered at him. "No arguing. This Wooster has spoken. Can you walk by yourself or do you need to lean on me?"

"I believe I am capable of walking by myself, sir," he answered. I rummaged about in his dresser for his pyjama trousers. He stared at me.

"You're not walking." I pointed to the door with an imperious hand. He complied silently, with a bit of a sulk.

When we got back to my room, he let me help him get undressed, moving quite gingerly and letting out the occasional slight hiss when his ribs twinged, rather like a serpent who's sprung a leak. Eventually, we were both be-pyjamaed and tucked under the covers of my bed; Jeeves lay flat on his back, looking somewhat overcome and vaguely startled. I lay on my side facing him, my head resting on my arm. I'd never actually had the chance to contemplate Jeeves in the dark from this angle before. I found it quite affecting.

"Jeeves," I said gently, reaching out to rest my hand on his chest.

"Yes, sir?" He turned his head to look at me.

"After the rather painful day you surely must have had, I hate to place yet another item on the agenda, but I seem to have found myself engaged again." One dark eyebrow went up about seven degrees.

"Miss Prudence, sir?"

"If only. No, it was Charlotte, blast it, and now Corky wants to stake the Wooster scalp to his front door as a dire warning to future generations."

"Oh, sir." His un-cast hand came up and rested over mine. "I am certain that, given some rest, I can come up with a satisfactory conclusion for all concerned."

I nodded. "Yes, Jeeves, it was with this in mind that I brought the topic before you. Thankfully, I'm not due to see her again until the day after tomorrow, so you have a little time to recover first. I'll have to make sure you get your rightful ration of fish tomorrow, of course."

"Of course, sir."

I sighed heavily and turned my gaze to the heavens. "Why is it, Jeeves, that this always happens to me? I sit at dinner, minding my own business, being my usual cheerful self, and without fail I end up engaged, with a furious friend chasing me about and threatening to break bits of me."

We contemplated in mutual silence for a few moments before Jeeves spoke. "I believe, sir," he said quietly, "that it is because you are a genuinely kind, cheerful, and generous individual; these are extremely attractive traits in anyone." There was a ripe, momentary pause, and Jeeves continued. "I can certainly understand why someone might fall in love with you." There had been a dashed odd catch in his voice at that.

"Do you really think so?" I looked back over at him, to find his eyes meeting mine.

"Yes, sir. I do." His hand moved slowly away from mine, trailing up my chest in the small space between us. There was a soft motion as the backs of his fingers caressed my cheek and retreated again.

"Oh. I say." That careful touch of his fingers and the sound of his voice did the strangest things to the inside of my chest. I felt almost like I was vibrating.

His hand rested atop my own again. "Good night, sir."

I tried to find my breath. I was quite sure I'd left it lying about somewhere. "Good night, Jeeves."

***

I woke with my head on Jeeves's shoulder and his arm tucked around me. One of my legs was tangled with his in a somewhat more comfortable than I would have expected knot. The fact that a rather stiff part of me was pressed to his hip did not escape my attention. He was silently studying me when I looked up at him. I sighed happily and ran my hand down his side. "Good morning, Jeeves. Rather topping, this, isn't it?"

"Indeed, sir." His voice was soft and rough with sleep and his fingers caressed my waist beneath my pyjama shirt.

"I've never actually had the chance to wake up next to another chap before," I said. "I rather like this."

A tiny smile curved his lips. "Nor I, sir. I must admit, I am finding this most pleasant."

"I mean to say, one can't really take the chance that one's valet or some other member of the domestic staff might come in with morning tea and toast for a single and not be terribly chuffed with the reason it should have been for a pair." It wasn't that I'd never been tempted, mind you, but one hesitates in the face of someone calling in the police.

"When one is a visiting member of the domestic staff, sir, rooms below stairs are often shared. One dares not even contemplate such things." His arm tightened around me slightly. My hand moved lower on his body and my arm met with a warm, stiff bit of Jeeves that matched my own. His eyes closed for a moment, a hint of pleasure suffusing his face. I took that as an invitation and slipped my hand into his pyjamas, wrapping his prick in my fist. He sighed and wriggled slightly, his fingers tightening on my skin. "Yes, sir, please," he whispered, a bit breathless.

I rolled slightly so that I was pressed more closely to his body, rubbing myself against his hip as I stroked his prick and nibbled at his neck. Neither of us said anything as we moved together, seeking our pleasure. The other times we'd done this, it had been while Jeeves was in the bath; lying next to each other like this seemed the height of luxury. The scent of his skin, warm with sleep, was almost intoxicating and the quiet sounds he made as he held me with his one good arm were driving me quite mad with desire. I found my release quickly and then delighted in watching Jeeves as he shuddered and released in my hand a few minutes later.

He caught his breath as I held him in my arms, both of us rolled on our sides facing one another. His cast arm rested on my side and his fingers trailed lazily in my hair as he gazed at me, his eyes at half-mast. Eventually, he rested his forehead against mine. "Thank you, sir. That was most enjoyable."

"You know, old fruit," I said quietly, enjoying the warmth of our little nest of sheets and pillows, "I wouldn't be at all averse to waking with you here next to me every morning." The thought made my heart beat a little faster, leaving me feeling a bit jellified in the midsection.

Jeeves's breath stilled for a moment, his fingers tightening quite deliciously in my hair. He looked into my eyes, his own all dark with thingness. "When you are visiting, sir, that would not be possible for obvious reasons, but if we are alone here at the flat I..." He took another shivery breath. "I would like that very much, sir."

"So you like the idea, then?" I felt slightly breathless myself.

"To be invited to share your bed, sir," he hesitated for a moment. "I am honored," he whispered.

"I can't think of anyone I'd rather wake up to every morning, old thing," I told him. "Not that I wasn't already, but I mean like this, you know. Next to me in the bed and whatnot." Certainly no beazel would ever do. He smiled at that; not one of the little quirks of the lip that usually signified Jeevesian delight, but a genuine, full smile that lit up his face in a way I'd never seen before. It turned me into an absolute puddle of soppy thingness. "If I start gibbering about the stars being God's daisy chains, Jeeves, kill me quietly in my sleep, would you?"

He chuckled softly. "Should such a circumstance arise, sir, I'm certain a more suitable solution might be found."

I knew the day had to begin eventually and that we'd have to get out of bed and face the threat of Charlotte and frightfully impending matrimony fairly soon, but I wanted to stay here, wrapped in my man's arms for a while longer even though we were damp and somewhat sticky. "Do you think I might ask you a question, Jeeves? I mean to say, you don't have to answer if you don't want to, but I'm rather curious."

He looked at me dubiously but nodded. "Certainly, sir."

"These clubs, Jeeves, like the one you went to that was raided. I saw in the newspapers that several more have been raided recently. Most disturbing, that."

He nodded, silent.

"It just seems like it would be so dangerous. Why would you go to places where there were people you couldn't trust, or where someone might be a policeman or a blackmailer just looking for such things? I mean, I don't question that a chap has needs, but wouldn't it have been easier to find a few friends whose discretion could be depended upon? One doesn't name names, of course, but it was always how I handled the whole thing; find a few chaps who quite honestly had just as much to lose as I did if anyone was found out, and carry on with the understanding that we'd keep it close and protect one another, you know?"

Jeeves regarded me with a pensive eye for quite a while. It got to the point where I didn't think he was going to answer, and I was about to tell him never mind, when he nodded. "I suppose it is a fair question, sir. I think it is obvious that your discretion is impeccable. I never knew or even suspected; I will admit that, due to your open and garrulous nature, I would not have believed you quite capable of keeping such a secret and I find myself rather humbled by the fact that I was incorrect about this." He pulled me slightly closer, and I went willingly. "A servant, sir, does not have nearly the same opportunity for privacy as a gentleman. I would never bring anyone here to the flat, even if I knew you would be away for several days or even several weeks. One never knows when a caller might arrive for the absent resident, or if one's employer might unexpectedly return."

I thought about that. It had never occurred to me that our situations might be so entirely different, even living under the same roof. But really, in the end it was my home in a legal sense and I could see why Jeeves might not regard it as his own in the same way I did. While he could walk away by choice -- and had done so once before in a bit of a tiff over a banjolele -- for all he'd known, I might dismiss him without notice or reason at any time. I found the whole thing quite disturbing, realizing just how much uncertainty the poor chap must have been living with. It had to be like being a mouse in a house full of insomniac cats. One could never safely rest the weary brow at all!

"With this being the case," he continued, "I have always felt far safer in a situation of anonymity. If no one knew my name, and if I never knew the names of the men with whom I pursued my pleasures, it would be much more difficult for the law to find me if someone was apprehended, nor could I easily betray another. In keeping my activities far from your home, sir, I was also protecting you as best I knew how. I had and have no desire to bring disgrace or ruin to you or your name and your family."

"You do know, don't you, Jeeves, that this is your home too?" I raised a hand to his cheek and offered a bit of a tender caress. "And that I'd do anything I could to protect you if you ever found yourself in a spot of trouble."

He closed his eyes for a moment, looking ever so slightly overcome. "I have, for several years now, regarded my place as being at your side, sir, but one dares not assume such a position might be permanent. To hear you say such things..." He took a slow, deep breath. "You have no idea, sir, how much that means to me," he said softly.

"Yes. Well." I took a bracing breath myself. "In order for both of us to keep our _statu_ in its proper _quo_ , you're going to have to help me find a way to shake off this Mangel-Wurzel blister. I have great faith in you, Jeeves."

"Of course, sir. That would be Miss Meyers-Basting, sir." He smiled again. "I have been giving the matter some thought. If I might have a few hours today during which I could pursue these ends?"

"Oh, most certainly! Anything you need, old fruit. A few hours is naught in the face of such a crisis. I would give unto you even half of my kingdom, etcetera." He deserved all that and more, surely.

"I do not believe that will be necessary, sir," he said, his e.s glittering with a bit of a twinkle.

***

With Jeeves biffing off about the frozen boroughs of New York in pursuit of ways to prevent Bertram from being dragged down the aisle, I found myself at loose ends and made my way to the Pumpkin Club for a mid-day graze and a few gaspers with the chaps who'd straggled back from their holidays in the last week or two. Jeeves had said he would likely be home late-ish and it might be best if I took my dinner at the club. I told him to be careful and not to overdo things, particularly after how he'd mangled himself yesterday in his misguided tidying. "I shall endeavor to be careful, sir," he'd said, and shimmered out the door.

The club was busy as an anthill after a thorough stomping by some blister of a child. I was surprised to see just how many of the chaps had returned after their New Years festivities, but I suppose mid-January is time enough to return to Manhattan from nearly anywhere, except perhaps the wilds of North Dakota or some other such horrifyingly rural landscape. This, I must say, led to a considerable amount of jollity, despite the thought of being shackled to some hermit of a beazel who'd probably forbid me the society of anything other than herself and a couple of moggies, if her behavior at dinner last night were any indicator. She was less enthusiastic about the company of other human beings than some unwashed anchorite buried under a medieval church. I wondered uncharitably if there were any of those tiresome martyrs in her family tree waiting to be shaken out and fed to lions.

The chaps commiserated with me over my impending doom. "No society man should ever be weighed down with a lead sinker of a dame like that, Bertie, old thing," Roger 'Fussy' Sigerton told me, leaning over a whiskey and s. at the bar. "She'll have you locked in the basement before you can catch your breath. You'll never be seen again!"

"Not if my man Jeeves can come up with a suitable wheeze," I said. "I have complete faith in him. He's oiled me out of any number of prior engagements. It's just that one doesn't like to disappoint a gal; it's not gentlemanly, you know? Utterly against the Code of the Woosters to tell a beazel she can't marry you when she's convinced you've asked her to. Of course, this leads to a great deal of distress on Bertram's part." I downed my own b. and s., filled with sorrow and travail, and tapped the glass on the zinctop for another. The Pumpkin Club was no speakeasy, but the hooch was kept quiet for obvious reasons. As with so many things, the fact that the membership was of the oofy sort tended to help encourage the police to look the other way.

"You're entirely too honorable for your own good, Bertie. You should try being a cad for once. You might find you enjoy it." Fussy grinned a rakish but exceedingly toothy grin. He bore a frightening resemblance to a crocodile in need of orthodontics.

The barkeep refreshed my glass and I puffed on a thoughtful gasper, letting the smoke curl decoratively. "Fussy, old bean, that may be the way of you Americans, but an English gentleman simply doesn't do such things. There are centuries of family tradition to be upheld, after all. One can't disgrace the family name. Not at all the act of the _preux chevalier_ , really."

"Corky was furious when I saw him this morning." Trevor Ainsley, a man with a disturbing lack of a nickname, shook his head like a puzzled onager in search of a crossword clue. "He swore your man Jeeves has it in for him. Wasn't it your valet's scheme that got his last intended hitched to his uncle or something?"

"Even a paragon has an off day occasionally," I objected. "It wasn't Jeeves's fault that this beazel threw herself on the Wooster charm. I do rather have that effect on them for some reason." This got a somewhat exaggerated laugh from the assembly. "I'd merely attended dinner to buck up an old friend and keep this beazel's sister company. Corky talked about his upcoming gallery opening and the party he's throwing for it and suddenly Charlotte was off Corky and clinging to my arm like a bally leech."

"Well, that is bad luck," Fussy said, tsking at me like an aunt.

I leaned back against the bar. "It's enough to send a man back to Old Blighty."

Trevor nodded sagely. "Yeah, but if you up sticks for London, will she follow you?"

"I can't very well do that until she's been pushed off, old thing." That said, the flow of brimstone from Aunt Agatha's corner of the inferno seemed to have slowed to a crawl recently. It might be a good idea to vacate Manhattan for the old metrop. sometime soon regardless. Less snow would make a rather happier man of me.

The commiseration over my fate continued until after the dinner hour when, somewhat under the surface of the old blushful Hippocrene, I wandered homeward. Jeeves answered the door, sirring me as was his usual wont; he had not gone so far as to put on the valeting uniform. I'd have had harsh words for him had that been the case. "Jeeves, old fruit!" I tootled. "Have you found a way to scoop the young master out of the soup during your day of chasing ideas about the city?"

"Indeed, sir."

"Oh? Do tell!" I ankled into the sitting room and perched myself on the piano bench. He stood by, a slight hint of a smile approaching his lips.

"Miss Meyers-Basting, sir, appears to be quite averse to social situations."

"Pshaw, Jeeves. This I knew." I lit a pensive gasper. "This information, it does me no good."

His head tilted. "On the contrary, sir. The psychology of the individual suggests that this information could be vital to removing Miss Meyers-Basting's influence from your person."

"Oh? Elaborate, Jeeves. And you might waft in this direction with a b. and s., if you would."

"Very good, sir." With a miniscule incline of his well-shaped head, which I must remind you sticks out at the back so that there is ample room for his immense brain -- it's full of fish and information -- he shimmered over to the bar and handled the bottles and glass quite adeptly with one hand. A moment later, said glass was in Bertram's hand, being imbibed.

"Now, Jeeves," I said, taking a sip of the needful, "I must hear your wheeze."

He nodded. "Miss Meyers-Basting is known to prefer the bliss of solitude, sir. It occurs to me that if you were to plan a festive occasion to announce your impending nuptials, to which you invited all of your friends, Miss Meyers-Basting would take it amiss and perhaps decide that a man of society such as yourself is not a suitable marital partner."

I blinked. "What? She'd not stand for a party, Jeeves. This is nonsense. Utter tosh."

"That is why, sir, you would not inform the lady beforehand. It would be, as they say, a surprise party. You could inform her upon her arrival that you only wished to introduce her to your social circle."

"I say." I sipped my drink and inhaled a puff of my cigarette. "You know, Jeeves, this just might work. She was all up at arms about Corky having a party for his gallery opening, after all."

"Indeed, sir. This information is, in part, what the ruse I have suggested is based upon."

I felt the warm glow of fond admiration light the depths of the Wooster heart. "I feel the warm glow of fond admiration lighting the depths of the Wooster heart, Jeeves. You stand alone."

"Thank you, sir."

"Do make the arrangements, would you, Jeeves? Tomorrow, I'm afraid, is too soon to gather the troops, but perhaps this weekend?"

"Very good, sir."

"And make sure to have someone in to take care of the actually doing things bits. You're not to be shimmering about delivering drinks at this stage."

He gave me a less than sanguine look. "Very good, sir."

"Now then, come and have a seat with me. This plan's chickens may not yet have hatched, but I am quite hopeful of success."

"Indeed, sir." There was slightly more fondness in this statement.

I placed my drink on the piano and set to a spritely round of 'Minnie the Moocher,' my heart light with the anticipation of freedom from engagements. Jeeves materialized on the bench next to me on my right, his uncast left hand resting on my thigh. I gave him a blinding smile and encouraged him to hie-de-hie with me. He did so, but I could tell his heart just wasn't in it. "Jeeves, your heart is not in this."

"No, sir. I fear not."

"Well, that being the case, let's try this one." I regaled him with a snappy performance of Gilbert and Sullivan's 'Major General' song. I think I got most of it right.

Jeeves favored me with a slight upturning of the lips, signifying a considerable bit of chuffed approval. "Thank you, sir. I do find some of the music of Messrs Gilbert and Sullivan much preferable to Mr. Calloway's less decipherable compositions." His hand crept up my leg a bit, causing the Wooster corpus to take notice.

"It is getting rather late, isn't it, Jeeves." I tipped back the last of the night's tipple.

"Indeed, sir. If I may say so, I find myself rather worn from the day's activities."

I nodded. "Well then," I said, "it seems that it's time for these birds to roost, what?" I stood and he stood with me; he seemed slightly hesitant. "Are you coming, Jeeves?" I gestured toward the master bedroom.

"I only wished to be certain that such was your intent, sir." He smiled a miniscule smile, looking slightly more relaxed after my invitation. I took his hand.

"When we're alone, Jeeves, you have neither to ask nor await the young master's invitation. I was entirely serious this morning when I told you I'd like to wake up with you next to me every morning." I gave his hand a squeeze. "You don't have to wait for me if I'm still pottering about the place when you wish to sleep. Just hie yourself to the bed, old thing. I think you'd be a rather fetching vision to find awaiting me."

At that, his smile expanded slightly and he wrapped me in his arm, tugging me into a gentle embrace. "I am most gratified, sir. I could not be certain that you had retained that opinion and I did not wish to presume." There was an unaccustomed warmth in his voice that jellied my internal organs in the best possible way.

He still needed an assist in shedding the togs once we'd beetled off to my room. That was likely to last for a few weeks, of course. He was somewhat displeased at my leaving of our attire on a chair but I insisted he leave it for later. We snugged ourselves under the covers and I turned to him and put an arm about him, resting my head on his shoulder. "I still don't know what I'll do tomorrow," I grumbled. "I'm going to have to entertain Charlotte and her sister here. She insisted upon seeing the place. Do you think you could see your way clear to having someone in your kitchen long enough to get them in and out the door?"

"Given that I am currently unable to cook," he said, "and that your entertainment this weekend will also necessitate bringing in assistance, I do believe I could be persuaded to supervise, sir." His fingers were in my hair again, threading through it in the most delightful way. There was something slightly amiss with this feeling that approached domestic bliss, however.

"Jeeves."

"Yes, sir?"

"I'm finding it dashed odd to have you referring to me as 'sir' while I'm lying in bed ensconced in your arms, old fruit. I'd really rather you called me Bertie."

He quietly began a corking imitation of a board. I could hear his heart pittering overly quickly beneath his ribs. "Sir?" There was a distinct soupy thingness in evidence.

"Bertie. It is my name, after all."

There was a slight tremor to the Jeevesian voice when he answered. "I could not, sir."

I found this disturbing. "I find this disturbing, Jeeves. Why ever not? Can't the feudal spirit be briefly banished when we're alone?"

"No, sir." His voice had steadied and firmed up nearly to concrete.

"What is it that so alarms you about this, Jeeves?"

"It would be most improper, sir."

That was absolute nonsense. "That's nonsense, Jeeves. I'm a bit pipped about this, I must say. Having you call me 'sir' when we're being entirely improper with one another to begin with smacks somewhat of the evil employer taking undue advantage of his staff and I just don't like the implications. It's like something out of an exceedingly bad melodrama. Next thing, you'd think I'd be tying you to the railroad tracks and twirling my mustache. If I had a mustache, that is, which I don't."

"That is a fact for which I am continually thankful, sir."

"No, Jeeves, you're changing the subject. I am quite serious. The whole thing presents a rather sordid picture. I should very much like for us to just be ourselves when we're alone, not master and servant. It just feels entirely wrong, if you see what I mean. I'd like us to call each other by our given names in private."

He rolled onto his side and looked me in the eyes. "Sir, to allow such a lapse could be dangerous for both of us."

"Why? Do you not trust my discretion? You've already said you never even knew I was interested in chaps. It's not like I can't keep a secret when it's necessary."

"I trust you, sir," he whispered. He rested his forehead against my own.

"Are you saying you don't trust yourself? That's quite absurd. You are the soul of discreet thingummy and whatsit, Jeeves. Your silence is one of your most virtuous virtues. I trust you -- I wouldn't ask this if I didn't."

"Sir..." He took a very slow, deep breath and let it out, wincing a little with the pain in his ribs. "Sir, when we began this, I assumed it to be a matter of convenience for the both of us. I was not at all averse to this state of affairs. On the contrary, I find the arrangement quite satisfactory and I have had no ambition to rise above my station. Yet over the past week, sir, you..." His voice caught and he paused, a bit breathless. "Sir, in the past few days you have been treating me very much like a lover." The word went through me like a flaming sword through half a pound of butter. When he continued, he was hesitant and very quiet. "I cannot believe that this is what you intend, sir."

Was it what I'd intended? I couldn't say for certain. I knew I wanted him, and not just in my bed. "I hadn't thought of that, Jeeves," I told him. I could see a trace of sadness about his eyes at that, and it pained me greatly. "I'll admit that when we began this, it was intended as a convenience, and as a way to keep you from being hurt like this again." I touched the still-ugly bruise around his eye with gentle fingertips. His eyes closed for a moment and his face inclined slightly into my touch. "I can't say as I entirely know how I feel for you right now, Jeeves, but I can assure you it's more than mere fondness. You do know that, don't you?"

"Yes, sir." One of his legs brushed against mine and I let it slip between them, wanting him closer.

"But Jeeves, can two chaps actually fall in love? I always though it was something that was supposed to happen with a girl."

He regarded me solemnly. "It is entirely possible for men to fall in love with each other, sir."

"I say." That was a new thought, though it might help to explain those rummy sensations in the cardiac region that had recently been appearing in close proximity to Jeeves. "Are you sure?" He nodded.

"It was extolled as an ideal among the Greeks. That our society regards it as an aberration is nothing less than tragic, sir."

"I rather think I agree," I said. "Perhaps, Jeeves, it's best if I give this a bit of time to percolate. Let it slosh about in the old onion for a while."

"Of course, sir."

"But I'd still like for you to call me Bertie, old thing." I brushed a thumb over his cheek, careful of the bruising.

"Perhaps after you have allowed yourself some 'time to percolate,' sir." A hopeful glimmer had come into his eyes.

I nodded, yawning. "Goodnight, Jeeves. The hermit and her sister await me tomorrow. A restoration of the vital energies is necessary, I'm afraid." I was about as able to think as a scallop right at the mo. This love whatsit wasn't something I would be able to solve tonight.

He curled up against me, our limbs tangled together. "Good night, sir." It's possible I imagined the increased warmth in his voice.

***

By the time Charlotte and her sister arrived, I'd been bereft of Jeeves's company for several hours. He and the chap he'd engaged to deal with dinner tonight had been clustered round the stove, and one doesn't usually wander casually into the midst of the battleground while cooking is taking place. One particularly does not do so when one's only motivation would be having a casual chat with one's valet; it would look highly suspicious, I must say.

"What a lovely apartment, Bertie!" Charlotte burbled. Her sister Prudence merely gave it a suspicious examination, as though she had expected mice. Evans, the chap Jeeves had engaged, took their coats and whatnot, then vanished back into the kitchen. He did it much more noticeably than Jeeves ever had.

"Charlotte, old thing, welcome to the temporary residence."

"Temporary, Mr. Wooster?" the sister asked.

I nodded. "Well, I do intend to return to the old metrop. at some point in the next month or so. I'm missing the social whirl of London, don't you know."

Charlotte pouted as I steered her toward the chesterfield. "Really, Bertie, we haven't even set a date for the wedding yet. The engagement hasn't been formally announced. We can't leave for England until we've been married!"

"Oh," I said, as she and her sister planted themselves like so many sequoias upon my furnishings. They were tall beazels, both of them. Not quite of Jeevesian height, but quite considerable even in comparison to my Aunt Agatha's five foot nine. Lacking anything clever to say, I rang the bell. "Evans!"

"Yes, sir?" Evans didn't shimmer at all. He clomped into a room with all the grace of a hobbled giraffe.

"I find I'm in need of a whisky and s. The ladies here are likely in need of a desperate measure as well."

He gave me an odd look. "Yes, sir."

Charlotte and Prudence both sported shark-like grins at that. "I'll have one as well," Charlotte said. Prudence nodded in agreement and Evans squirted up some fortification. I hoped it would be enough to carry me through to dinner. Once Evans delivered the goods, he clomped back from whence he'd come. "I don't think," Charlotte said after having a sip, "that this social whirl is such a good idea, Bertie. A gentleman belongs at home with his wife and children, don't you think?"

I downed more of the w. and s. than was strictly necessary for one swallow. "Oh, yes. Of course. I quite agree. I'm not averse to a little peace and quiet from time to time, but a chap has his friends, you know." I didn't think I was quite numb enough yet. I could still feel my nose.

"I just love the idea of living in England, Bertie, dear. The English are so cultured. So elegant." She swilled more of what was in her glass, her sister still having a disapproving look around from her perch on the chesterfield. "Do you have a country house, Bertie?"

"Well, no, but my aunts and several of my friends do. I've spent rather a bit of time out there, you know, but Bertram is more of a city bird. Can't get on without a bit of smog in the lungs, what?"

I was saved from further conversation by Evans clomping in and announcing dinner. I leapt for it with all the enthusiasm of a rocketing pheasant fleeing from dogs and beaters. Like said pheasant, I was dearly hoping not to be shot down for my efforts. I was also hoping that introducing my guests to the trough would cause a distinct lull in conversation.

Evans wasn't as good a cook as Jeeves was, but it was obvious he was dabbling in Jeeves's recipes. I recognized what most of it was supposed to taste like, at least. It was lacking a bit of thingummy and the seasonings were slightly off. Not that it was at all bad, mind you, but it just wasn't the same. The dreaded fiancee and her sister didn't seem to mind at all. They thought it was all jolly well done, in fact.

Things got ever more dire as the evening progressed. The Mangel-Wurzel wanted me to give up my friends, my cigarettes, and visiting when more than three people were involved. She wanted me to move out of London and get a country estate so that she could live like 'a proper English lady.' I foresaw a future of Gussie Fink-Nottleish solitude. Most horrifying of all, she wanted her sister to live with us until the blister's intended had got himself enough money to support her in the manner to which she wanted to become accustomed!

Needless to say, it was a much dejected and depressed Bertram who managed to shove the blighters out the door after the dessert course. I couldn't even take a little solace in Jeeves's company, given that Evans would be pottering about cleaning up after the meal and seeing to things before he left for the night. I dropped myself onto the piano bench with a b. and s. and plonked out a few listless numbers, but music did not sooth my savaged breast at all.

When Jeeves finally shimmered up behind me and put a hand on my shoulder, I nearly jumped out of my skin. "Jeeves!"

"I beg your pardon, sir. I did not mean to startle you."

I raised a plaintive voice to him. "The evening was abysmal, old fruit. Evans clomps like a clydesdale and Charlotte wants not only to change everything about my life, but wants her sister to live with us as well. Your wheeze for ridding me of these excrescences had better work, that's all I can say."

He sat next to me on the piano bench and slipped his arm about the willowy Wooster waist. "I am sure it will, sir."

"My heart is heavy, Jeeves," I said, turning enough to wrap him in my own arms and rest my chin on his shoulder. "I've five more days of engagement to survive before the party here. She wants to come back again tomorrow, but I managed to fob her off with just a lunch out in a private room, like we had for dinner with Corky."

"Five days is not terribly long, sir," Jeeves said. "I think you will find it easier to endure than you currently believe."

"You've been wrong before, Jeeves."

He nodded. "This is true, sir, but I believe in this case that success can be predicted with some certainty. Miss Meyers-Basting's aversion to others is quite marked and should prove an extremely effective deterrent once she finds herself surrounded by your friends."

"You really are a marvel, you know." I sat up and set to a quiet bit of Brahms, which I knew Jeeves liked -- one of those _Ballade_ thingummies. It wasn't as chipper as what I usually liked, but he'd been working today when he shouldn't have had to and I just wanted to do something for him, given that he was looking a bit peaky and worn about the edges.

He smiled when I was finished. "Thank you, sir," he said.

"You're looking a bit done in, Jeeves."

He nodded. "I will admit I am tired. You also appear in need of sleep, if I may say so, sir."

"You may," I told him. "I'm for getting my requisite eight or nine hours, old thing. What say you?"

He nodded and rose, offering me a hand. I took it and we proceeded to our nightly slumber.

***

My next few days were spent in terror and contemplation. Not at exactly the same time, naturally, but in alternating moments of thingness. Terror, of course, was spawned by the Charlotte horror and her ever-present sister. One would think the two were sewn together with invisible thread. Contemplation, on the other hand, involved Jeeves and this whatsit that had been steadily developing between us.

I'd find myself waking in the middle of the night and watching him sleep. I'd have an odd feeling of tingling at the back of my neck and turn to find his eyes on me, a mysterious bit of a smile in the quirk of his lips. It was getting harder to be near him without wanting to at least reach out and put a reassuring hand on him for the briefest mo. The heart would skip. The knees would wobble. The lungs would labor unseemly.

All the arrangements had been made for my friends to come to dinner to meet the horror. I was dashed frantic about it, though Jeeves would continually assure me that this wheeze would work. The day before the _fête_ , Evans returned, clomping about and getting things ready. He'd be back after lunchtime Saturday to finish up the preparations. I'd had no idea that doing something like this would be so much work. I had no idea how Jeeves managed it, but the man is a wonder, able to leap small buildings at a single bound.

Once Evans had been excavated from Jeeves's domain, we rallied round the fireplace for a bit of warmth and a restoration of the tissues. Jeeves handed me my glass and sat with me on the chesterfield once the fire was properly kindled and snapping merrily at the logs. I leaned against him with my feet up on an ottoman and he eased one arm about my shoulders.

"I say, Jeeves," I said, "do you ever think about love?" My mind had been considerably weighed down by his comments that night and I'd been turning the thing about in the Wooster onion ever since. I still hadn't come to any conclusions. Putting things to Jeeves often resulted in a spot of light in Bertram's firmament and it seemed only fair that I should put this to him as well, seeing as it did directly concern him.

He nodded. "It has been a topic much on my mind recently, sir," he said. His voice was warm and smooth and it left a fluttery feeling in the old thorax.

"And what are your thoughts on the topic, old fruit?"

"In what sense, sir?" He sounded slightly apprehensive.

I sat up again and faced him, still sitting quite close. "It's been much on my mind lately as well, since we talked the other night about how I was treating you and whether I meant to treat you as... well, as a lover." Even thinking the thought had sent odd surges of warmth and soppiness through me, but to say the words aloud brought that warmth and soppiness to a boil. "I mean to say, Jeeves, do you think you might be in love with me? Because I think... that is to say, I may very well be in love with you, if the level of soppiness and cardiac fluttering I've been experiencing of late is anything to go by."

Something shifted subtly in his expression and his eyes went quite dark. He raised his hand to cup my cheek and leaned in slowly until our lips met in a soft, moist caress. Suddenly, there was no air at all in my lungs. I leaned into him and that soft caress led to open mouths and tongues shaking hands and quiet, desperate sounds that I eventually realized were coming from me. My arms went round him and the kissing got hotter and hungrier and more intense until I was breathless and aching and feeling an entirely overwhelming need to be naked with my man, doing exceedingly scandalous things to him. I'd never kissed a chap that way before; one doesn't, you know. Kissing was what one did with the beazels, or so I'd been led to believe. This was entirely different than any kiss I'd ever had before.

We were both gasping for breath when we pulled back a bit for air. Jeeves looked flushed, his hair thoroughly mussed and his shirt and waistcoat wrinkled. "Yes, sir," he panted. "I have never felt this way for anyone before, but I... I do love you." The look in his eyes was positively electric. Something in me absolutely burst with happiness at that. I wrapped myself about him like an overly enthusiastic octopus, quite overcome by his words. He held me tightly, or at least as tightly as one can with a broken arm and two broken ribs, and I think he was trembling a bit, though that might well have been me. "I didn't dare to hope..." he started, but his voice trailed off and he just held me silently.

"I've tried to fall in love with girls, Jeeves, you know I have, but it was never anything like this. It never felt anything like this at all." I nibbled a bit at his ear and he shivered in my arms. "So, to answer that question you asked last week, yes, I do mean to treat you as my lover."

"Oh, sir." There was a certain stunned disbelief to the words.

"No," I said. "Bertie. Please. Just call me Bertie when we're alone like this, would you?"

"But, sir--"

I shook my head adamantly. "I love you. I won't have you calling me 'sir' when we're alone now that I know it." I took a breath. I'd been surprised when I'd found out Jeeves actually had a first name, thinking he'd been shucked out of the box in perfect form with a single name, but he had become so much more to me than a valet. More than a confidant. More, even, than a friend. "Please, Reggie. I know you think it's a risk, but we can keep this a secret. We can keep this between us, I promise you."

He pulled away from me for a moment and I thought at first he was going to get up, but he took my face in his hands. The plaster over his palm was rough on my cheek and the fingers of his broken arm shook with the effort and pain of moving them, but he held me like that and looked into my eyes. "I love you, Bertie," he whispered. Then he kissed me until my brain went to mush and started leaking out of my ears.

When I was finally able to think more than just 'yesyesyesyesyes,' I caught my breath for a moment and insisted upon an immediate trip to the bedroom. It was late, we had nothing to do until tomorrow, and I wanted him quite desperately, my whole body aching with my need for him. He followed along willingly, with a brilliant and breathless smile on his face. It was an effort to remember to be gentle with him; he was still hurting and would be for some weeks yet, and I didn't want him to be hurt further by my being rough, even accidentally. I wanted him so bally intensely I could barely breathe.

The process of peeling off the outer layers was slow and sweet. It didn't matter that we'd done it every night recently; that had been a couple of chaps getting undressed for sleep and maybe a tumble. This had a _je ne sais_ something to it because two hearts were beating as one and whatnot. I was very aware that I had fallen in love with this man, that this was more than a convenience and a modicum of assurance against discovery, and it sharpened things almost unbearably. I'd never thought that this emotional thingummy would make much of a difference, really. One was supposed to fall in love with a beazel and things would take whatever natural course one took to spawn heirs to the family name -- all very perfunctory, if that's the word I want. I'd thought it a duty and something to have over and done with. But this -- this love whatsit had me thoroughly scrambled.

Everything I'd felt before when I'd thought myself in love was as a flea upon the back of the raging bull elephant that was currently charging through me, trampling tigers and hunters and the occasional _mahout_ in its path. Kisses weren't supposed to be like this -- they weren't supposed to burn you like this or turn your insides to jelly. By the time we had our clothes off I had Jeeves sitting on the bed with myself on my knees on the floor between his feet. He was hard and breathless and his hand was in my hair as I took him in my mouth, sucking him in and letting the head of his prick slide up and down the length of my tongue.

He tasted like salt the way an ocean does, he smelled of heat and cigarette smoke and desire, and he felt dashed amazing. I hadn't done this for him before because he usually liked to do it for me, but the sounds he made told me he bally well wasn't going to ask me to stop. Jeeves gasped and panted and moaned my name in a way that sent shivers down my spine like a troop of ants pursued by an anteater. I loved how he tugged at my hair and the tremors in his thighs and the utterly obscene sound he made when he came off in my mouth.

It was the work of moments to get him -- carefully -- onto his back and tuck myself atop him with my hips between his thighs. He held me as I moved against him, kissing me madly; we panted and tongues were sucked and lips were nipped and we moaned into one another's mouths. "I want.. oh, _yes_... Bertie, I want to feel you inside me," he gasped as I pressed myself hard against him.

I wanted that too. Good God, how I wanted that. "I don't... oh, Lord that's good... you can't bend that way right now," I said, taking a tasty nibble at his neck as I moved breathlessly on his body.

"I know." It was more a groan than a statement. His fingers dug into my back. "I want you. I want to be filled with you."

I ask you, how could I not come to a blinding finish with him talking like that? I shuddered and held him to me with all my strength as I came, panting against his skin, completely breathless with pleasure. I had just enough sense left to not put all my weight on his chest when I was done, holding myself up a bit until I could slip off and let myself go limp on his uninjured side. He rolled a little to keep me in his arms and kissed me quite thoroughly once I had enough breath not to pass out while he was doing it.

We were at that wordlessly for a while, the kisses growing softer and gentler as we both came down from the clouds. Finally, I got up for a damp cloth to clean us up and climbed into bed next to him for the night. He wrapped me in a hug again, playing with my hair and nuzzling at me in the darkness. "I can hardly believe we have come to this, Bertie," he whispered.

"It was a bit of a cricket bat to the side of the head for me as well, old thing."

He smiled and gave a quiet chuckle, then kissed the tip of my nose. "You're sure of this?" I was pretty sure he wasn't referring to the cricket bat. I nodded.

"I'm still not sure what happened," I said. "It took a while of thinking about all this for it to catch up with me. But, Reggie, is this what you want to have between us? I mean to say, I don't want you thinking you haven't any choice about what happens from here."

He gazed at me in thoughtful mien, then kissed me softly, once. "I knew that I found you desirable early in our association but, for many reasons, I saw the entire concept as an unattainable fantasy. It was your essential kindness and decency that endeared you to me. I never thought of it as anything other than a great fondness, though."

"What happened?" I asked. "It took you saying something about it for me to even start thinking in that direction. I'd always thought that love had to involve the female of the species, but that's obviously not the case."

He slipped his cast arm from its resting place on my side to the space between our bodies. "Most other men in your position would have dismissed me when I was too injured to continue working," he said, his voice quiet. "I was afraid of that almost as much as of your informing the police if you found out the true reason why I had been so injured."

"But--"

"I have always had a certain amount of money set away in the event that an accident deprived me of the ability to work. I have seen others come to grief for not having done so."

"I would never have sent you off without making sure you would be all right, Reggie. A... a pension or something, at least." I couldn't imagine someone just dismissing a man as faithful and filled with the feudal spirit as Jeeves was if he'd been hurt and might be left without a way to feed himself, much less when he couldn't even button his own trousers. The wrongness of tossing someone away like so much used up wastepaper shook me in no small measure.

He nodded. "When you, completely spontaneously, suggested this arrangement to ensure my safety without regard to the potential damage to your own reputation, I could hardly believe that even you might be so generous." His fingers caressed my cheek and I shivered at his touch. "I was willing to take this chance because I knew you to be generous to your friends and tolerant even of those who have sometimes wronged you. Yet with each passing day, you offered me something new and even more impossible. You had no need to do any of these things, Bertie." He gave me a look that utterly melted me. "How could I not fall in love with you?" he whispered at last.

He kissed me again, but I had a question. "Are you sure that's not just, well, gratitude?"

"I'm certain. I cannot deny that I'm grateful for your generosity, but it is not gratitude that has moved my heart. What I feel for you is rooted instead in... in wonder. It has grown from my loyalty to you and from my admiration for your finer qualities. I believe I would have become enamored of you eventually, even if this had never happened." He turned his eyes away for a moment, a slight chuckle sounding in his chest. "I find myself unable to believe how lucky I was in being sent to your door."

"You can't possibly know how lucky I've always felt at finding you there, old thing." I wriggled close until we were body to body with his arm pressed between us. "I'd be entirely lost without you; I'd have been married ages ago and completely miserable. Bertram's depths may not run as deep as yours, my dear, but the miles of shallow I do have are thoroughly devoted to you."

He laughed quietly but then sobered a bit. "I have great faith in you, Bertie," he said. "But I wish to know something."

"You've only to ask, Reggie."

"What will happen if, despite our best efforts, we are discovered?" There was the tiniest hint of a tremor in his voice and I could understand why. It was a frightening prospect. A distant one, like being swallowed by a shark off Brighton Beach or something, but a possibility nonetheless. I supposed it might grow more dicey as the years went by and I continued to dodge the matrimonial bullet, but if it always looked like the beazels were rejecting Bertram and not the other way round, I supposed it would turn out all right.

I thought about it for a while. Jeeves just watched me, silent, while I turned it about in my head. There were so many of Jeeves's imponderables about the whole thing. He likely believed I'd desert him if it came down to my losing him or losing everything else. "I think," I finally said, "that it would depend greatly upon who had discovered us." He nodded and waited for me to continue. "There are a few chaps of my acquaintance, and no names shall be named, who would most likely simply lament the fact that Bertram was no longer entertaining them in quite the same way. I should think there wouldn't be a problem if that were the case. None of them are the blackmailing sort, like Stiffy is. I can't imagine any of them taking it badly, that I'd found someone who loved me and whom I loved in return, you know?"

"Certainly."

"On the other hand," I said, and shuddered, "if the dreaded and draconic Aunt Agatha were to find out -- and I'm not saying she would, but if she did -- then I'm not sure putting an entire bally planet between us would help. There'd be an explosion at Bumpleigh Hall that would obliterate several square miles all at once, I'm certain." I put a hand on his cheek and drew his eyes up to meet mine. "I would never let them part us, Reggie. I'd rather we left England for good than see you in prison because of what we are to one another. I would much sooner lose everything I have than lose you. I can't say I'd never miss Old Blighty or never regret leaving, but I can promise you I would never regret that I'd done it for your sake. The idea of trying to go on without you is entirely too frightening to contemplate. You must know that. Surely you've seen how badly things go for me when you're not around. The Wooster heart beats fondly for you, and I am greatly at risk of descending into Bassettlike gibberish at this point, so you might want to smother me with my pillow now before I begin bleating about specific dream rabbits and all that rot."

He said nothing to that, but held me tightly, his breathing ragged and irregular; he sounded quite overcome. I kissed my way from his cheek to his shoulder, rubbing his back gently. "I love you," I whispered to him. "Don't ever doubt that."

Jeeves nodded. "You continually astonish me."

I smiled and kissed him. "Go to sleep, Reggie. We've got an entirely too long day tomorrow, and if this doesn't work, you're going to have to think of another way to get me out of the soup."

"I shall do everything within my power to remove you from said soup, sir," he answered, with a smile.

***

The party was roaring along when Charlotte and her sister came to the door. There were at least twenty people, maybe thirty. I didn't bother to count them all. It was a goodly number of Bertram's friends though, invited because I was going to "make an announcement," and I think curiosity brought as many of them out as the promise of strapping on the old nosebag.

Charlotte gave a little "eep!" at the door, her eyes going wide, and I do believe that if looks could kill, Prudence's would have had me scattered in half a dozen very small graves for the various parts I would have been sundered into. I tugged Charlotte in with a bright smile on my face and a song in the Wooster heart.

"Charlotte, old thing, I wanted you to meet my friends! No doubt you'll adore these chaps as much as I do."

She went pale as the driven snow, or possibly a slightly peaky attack swan, as I dragged her into the middle of the room and started introducing her around. With a sputter and a furious flapping of her wings, she growled, "You are a horrid, horrid man, Mr. Wooster! I never!"

"Surely you'll get used to the occasional to-do, Charlotte, darling?" I said. "These are just a few of my friends here in New York. I have entire bucketsful more back in Old Blighty. I'm certain you'll love them."

"We -- you -- I am _not_ marrying you, Mr. Wooster! Good day!" And with that, she whirled and fled as though the four horsemen of the Apocalypse were on her tail, along with all their various retainers and camp followers. Prudence spared me another incinerating glower as she petted her sister's back and bunged her on out the door.

I could see Jeeves shimmering about, dressed in his valeting togs, his cast arm tucked under his morning coat. He was glowing with valetly satisfaction as he propelled a salver around the room. It had been impossible for me to talk him out of at least serving drinks. "I am perfectly capable of carrying a tray in one hand, sir," he'd said. I must say, his presence was reassuring.

After the Meyers-Basting menaces stormed out of the flat, there was a clamor for the announcement that I'd promised. I grinned a triumphant grin and raised a hand to quiet the assembled slightly. "I did promise all of my chums an announcement, and so here it is. I'm heading back for Old Blighty in a few days, so this is my _bon voyage_ party. I won't likely see most of you again before I pop onto the ship, so make free with Bertram's hospitality until the ridiculously wee hours, chaps."

There was a general cheer and a rush of folks coming over to wish me a safe trip and whatnot. I raised my glass to Jeeves from across the room and he gave me that little nod of his, a ghost of a smile on his face.

It was about three in the ack emma when the last of the hangers-on had been eased out the front door and homeward. Jeeves and Evans had a couple of hours more work to deal with, but I was entirely done in so I dropped myself into bed after a brief whisper to Jeeves to join me when the coast was clear. I'd been asleep for a while when I felt Jeeves tuck himself in behind me. He slipped his arm about the Wooster waist and planted a warm kiss on the back of my neck.

"Mmmm, Reggie," I murmured. I couldn't help but smile.

"I did not mean to wake you, sir," he said softly.

I rolled over under his arm to face him and gave him a proper kiss. "I rather insist that you do, old thing. And it's Bertie here, in case you've forgotten."

"My apologies, Bertie. I suspect this will be a difficult habit to break because of the absolute necessity of calling you 'sir' when we are not alone in our flat behind a locked door."

I nodded. "Yes, of course. That's true enough." I snuggled close to him and tangled our legs together. "Are all the arrangements made for our passage back to England?"

"We sail in three days," he said. "Mr. Evans will be here the day after tomorrow to pack everything. I would do it myself--"

"But you can't and therefore you will not," I said firmly. "The doctor may have released you for light work, but he meant things you can do easily with one hand and no bending, not packing up everything we've got here to be shipped."

He sighed and nodded. "It is extremely frustrating to be unable to work," he said.

"I suppose you'll have to be packed away in steerage, as usual, what?" I asked, dashed disappointed because I already knew the answer.

"Yes, Bertie, and we both know why it's necessary."

"I'm going to miss this terribly, you know, having you in bed with me."

He kissed me again. "It will only be for six days."

"It's six days too dashed many, Reggie." More kissing was indulged in at this point, much to our mutual satisfaction. "I say, nobody back home knows we're coming yet, do they?"

He smiled. "Not as yet. I thought perhaps you might wish to inform them at some point after we had once again taken up residence in the London flat."

"You really are filled to the brim with fish these days, aren't you?"

"I had anticipated that you might desire some time to settle back in before you alerted anyone. I will admit I'm looking forward to being home myself, Bertie, and that I wish to have a little time alone with you before we must once again pretend we are nothing more than master and man." There was a lurking bit of sadness in his visage, but he was right. No one could ever know that things had changed between us. It made me sad as well; now that I'd found myself really in love, I wished I could tell people, as I would if it had been some beazel I'd fallen for.

"It's a hard thing, never being able to let anyone know what you really are to me, love." He held me closer, burying his face in my neck.

"It is enough that you love me," he whispered.

I shook my head. "It's not enough, Reggie, but it's what we have. I won't stop wishing the world were different."

"Nor I, Bertie," he admitted. "But I'll have you when we're alone together. It is far more than I could ever have asked from my life."

"It'll take a bit of getting used to, but you've been with me for years already, and people are used to hearing me sing your praises. I doubt a few extra verses here and there will raise any eyebrows."

He smiled at that. "What would you like to do when we get home?"

"Aside from shag you madly until neither of us can stand up?"

Jeeves laughed. "Aside from that."

"I think we'll give it a couple of weeks before we let anyone know we're back, Reggie. I won't be popping round to the Drones for a bit or the word would get out. I want you to be well enough to actually be working before we go anywhere, so that no one will ask why you're with me. I suspect some uncomfortable questions might arise otherwise," I said.

"A remarkably astute observation. It would be inadvisable to travel with a servant who is unable to serve."

"But before we go, Reggie, what to do about old Corky? He's still livid about this, from what I've heard."

Jeeves's fingers played with my hair. "I have been giving some thought to the situation, Bertie, and I have been informed that all is, perhaps, not as dire as you believe. It is my opinion that if you go to his show tomorrow and, perhaps, purchase one of his works, it might serve to mend your friendship with him."

"Really? But do you think he's got anything you'd let me hang on the wall, old thing?" That was an eyebrow-raiser of an idea. "You don't think he'll bash me with the nearest canvas when I walk in the door, do you?"

There was a quiet, Jeevesian chuckle. "If you would allow me to accompany you, I can indicate which of his works might be most suitable," he said. "As to assaulting you with a canvas, I believe he would prefer to preserve his work so that it might be sold."

"Well then." I nodded. "You'll come along with me, and we'll patch things up with Corky then be off for London!"

"Very good, Bertie."

***

"What ho, Corky!"

"Bertie?" Corky looked a bit startled when I walked through the door of the gallery where he was displaying his paintings. He'd been chatting with a young, paint-stained chap in front of one of the larger canvasses when I arrived. "I'm kind of surprised you'd show your face here." He didn't look particularly incensed, which surprised me.

"I've been shoved off, Corky, old thing." Jeeves shimmered past me, examining the paintings on walls and easels scattered round the large gallery space.

"Shoved off?" He crossed his arms and tilted his head at me. He looked like a puzzled platypus when confronted with the Sunday Times crossword.

"Like a pirate off the plank," I said. "Charlotte's dumped me and scarpered for quieter pastures. Apparently Bertram is too much of a social butterfly for her tastes." I shrugged. It didn't look like he wanted to throttle me, so I guessed I might be safe enough to relax and not worry about clear passage to the door.

Corky gave a little huff of a chuckle. "Yeah, probably for the best," he said. "After she tossed me over for you, I realized that if she wouldn't come to a party for my gallery opening, she probably wouldn't like most of the rest of my life, either." He patted the young chap on the shoulder and waved him off. "I'll talk more with you later, Jerry."

"Right, Corky," Jerry said, nodding and oiling off between some easels.

"So you're not angry with me?" I asked, wanting to be sure he wasn't holding a grudge in reserve.

"Nah, not after I thought about it," he said. "Actually, I was more worried about what she'd try to do to you, Bertie. You do like the social whirl, after all. I couldn't see you settling down in some drafty old country house and never having your friends over again."

I relaxed at that and gave him my most fetching grin. "It was a near thing, Corky! Did you know she wanted to bring her sister along and install her in the old homestead as well?"

Corky's eyes widened. "What? No! You're kidding, right?"

I shook my head. "No, young Corky, it was a narrow escape for both of us -- I just couldn't possibly see the three of you in that loft of yours, after all. Can you imagine? She'd have had either of us locked up in a cave away from all contact with humanity. You know I'm a city bird. God knows I don't want to end up like Gussie Fink-Nottle, alone with his newts and going a bit barmy from the solitude."

"Holy cow. You're right about that. Anyway, that's water under the bridge, old pal. Come have a look at the paintings!"

He guided me around and told me entirely too many things about all the various bits he'd done. There were comic paintings and rather more artistic bits of art, including some landscapes that Jeeves seemed to approve of. He gave me a silent nod when I stood in front of one particularly well done bit, so I bought that one, and Corky treated me like his dearest bosom pal when I had Jeeves pay him. He said he'd ship it off to my place in London so that we wouldn't have to pack it on the ship, and I bid the chap a fond farewell.

"Well, Jeeves," I said as we ankled along the snowy street, "I do think that was a blazing success. How ever did you know he'd be so forgiving?"

"At your _soiree_ last night, sir, I paid particular attention to those gentlemen who were your mutual friends and made a few discreet inquiries. I gathered that Mr. Corcoran was somewhat relieved at not being attached to such an antisocial lady once he'd had some time to think. It seemed he might be amenable to an overture from you, given the psychology of the individual in this instance."

I grinned at my man. "Well, Jeeves, it seems that all's well that ends happily, doesn't it?"

"Indeed, sir." He smiled back at me, looking dashed handsome under the brilliant winter sun. I was looking forward to being back home again, and treating myself to a new life with the chap I loved.

~~pau~~


End file.
